


Rest, Remember

by Darkhymns



Category: Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Romance, Slash, rareslash, why must this be rareslash?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhymns/pseuds/Darkhymns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Deadly enemies, they were strangers to the rest of the world- but they were not strangers to each other." Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dragon Wing: Frozen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> A work-in-progress that will take place in each of the novels of the Death Gate Cycle. Each chapter will also focus on either Haplo's or Alfred's point of view. All in all, this should last about eight or nine chapters in total. Hopefully.
> 
> Written because there is very little slash stories with them. I am offended by this, utterly. D: So this is my effort in trying to remedy that~

It was a common belief that everything would last forever. Young Coren, looking out upon the grand buildings made of bright crystal, the cultivated gardens that should not have existed this high in the sky, the crowds of mensch walking their meticulously crafted pathways, never questioned why any of it shouldn't. Certainly, what doubt could there be, when he and his people tirelessly worked to maintain the order that he saw, to keep this pristine view of harmony?

A small group of humans had trailed after him, watching in wonder as he conjured up the sprout of a tree, bringing it to full maturity, towering over their heads. They breathed in awe as he crafted the white coralite of the isles, making small homes for each of them. He sang to the land, willing the river to appear and flow down the deep trough his fellow Sartan made, and he heard the mensch behind him whisper in both gratitude and praise.

No question that many worshiped their betters, their gods. Coren would always tell them, quietly, that he and the others were not immortal beings, they were not divine. "We're simply your protectors, nothing more." He would say all this with ultimate conviction, and then continue on down the road, performing one miracle after the next.

The Lords of Night, giant floating isles situated on top of the world of Arianus, slowly moved across the sky to block the sun. It darkened considerably, reminding Coren that his time with the mensch was over. Though it took some time for him to finally be alone, needing another fellow Sartan to enchant their flock.

He made his way out of the city of the High Realms, wandering over to more isolated territory. Gathering his white robes tighter around his chest to ward off the chill, the hem dragged across the ground. It was free of dirt, still as perfect and pure as the day it was made. What might have been a long and tiresome journey for a human, he quickly traversed across the terrain, the ground seemingly moving for him so that he only took a dozen or so steps to reach his destination.

He eventually came upon lake that was quite a far distance from civilization, cut deep into the ground. It was clear blue and fresh, much better than what they had been in the ancient world, or so he'd been told. Long, deep green reeds, poked up from the surface, small insects skidded across, creating tiny ripples. None of it would have been possible without the magical barrier covering the isle, preserving life as it was. Relaxed, Coren turned toward the Sartan-made city that was like a dazzling jewel from afar, waiting eagerly with a quiet smile.

He watched her walk across the freshly cut grass. Her feet moved through flowers, pruned, their petals bright and symmetrical. Her movements did not ground them to the dirt, her body disturbed nothing that was in her path, like all Sartan who did not wish to do away with perfection.

Coren was unable to keep himself from smiling widely. "Lya," he spoke, and he said it softly. His tongue suddenly felt thick, and he looked down, feeling silly and light-headed and so many other wonderful feelings.

He felt her hand press lightly against his chin, raising his eyes. He saw fair skin, long white hair that fell around her shoulders, dark green eyes. She gave him a kiss before he could gaze at her any longer.

Despite all they were, despite their power, there was one simple fact; not even a god was immune to love.

"What have you been doing today, Coren?" she asked him. Her voice was smooth, effortless. There was no fluttering catch in her tone. Coren admired her for it, and inwardly cringed at his own voice's failings, how it seemed to squeak and break at all the wrong moments.

"I brought the me- ahem, the mensch through the city. I showed them where they would st- stay and how they can keep the land cultivated and help ration the water, once the time comes for them to travel back to the- um, ahem, I'm sorry, t-the Mid Realms." He grinned deprecatingly, fidgeting with his hands.

Lya giggled prettily, like small bells, like the tiny chimes of the crystal hargast trees as their boughs swayed in the wind. "Love, you must stop being so nervous."

His grin softened to a smile. "I know," he whispered, bravely gathering her in his arms. "Sometimes I just forget myself, especially…" he let the sentence hang in the air, kissing her forehead.

"Oh Coren, you know we don't have much time now," she protested, nestling deeper into his embrace. Rest came only briefly for the protectors. There were still so many things to teach the mensch. Both knew a Sartan's duties were never-ending. All for guidance, for helping the world of Arianus get back to true order and peace. But still, they remained by the lake together, private in their solitude, free to let their responsibilities slide away from their minds. Besides, harmony was within grasp. It would not take much longer for them to complete their tasks.

"I know, Lya, but…we still have now, don't we?" Coren held her tight, letting his lips travel down to her own, blissfully happy. The grass was inviting, nurtured with care. It was softer than a bed, warmer with the woman in his arms. Their location, had anyone knew, would have been met with stern disapproval by their brethren. Such thoughts were cast away as he kissed her, moving over her, lost and exhilarated.

He was convinced that their love would last forever. What doubt could there be?…

* * *

Alfred opened his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping, a simple action that no longer came easily. He wished just once it did. Maybe the vision would have lasted longer. Maybe he would have actually been convinced that the present was non-existent, nothing but a dream, that she was still alive, still warm.

Lya.

He hadn't meant to think of her again.

Alfred stayed in the corner of the cell, or the vat used as a cell by the Gegs, waiting for all the others to prepare for sleep. Bane was curled up in his blanket, deceivingly innocent. Hugh was seated on the far side, pipe in his mouth, his face expressionless. Limbeck was staring up at the ceiling, nervousness in his eyes. Haplo was laying in the other corner, eyes closed, his dog curled up by his side. Bandaged hands were draped over his chest, covering the boils that plagued his skin.

At least, that's what he had told everyone.

Alfred took a deep breath. The descent into the Sartan mausoleum had not been planned, especially not with a female Geg- or dwarf- beside him, hanging onto his large hands. The crystal tombs had been strangely comforting, for he had been among family once again, a family that had unexpectedly packed up and left him behind, one that he could not follow.

And he had tried so hard not to look at her, but their tombs had been right next to each other. He placed his hand on his own, as his eyes lingered on her's. She had still been so beautiful and young. She really did look like she was asleep, waiting for him to wake her up with a touch of his fingers against her hair, or the press of his lips against her cheek.

He wondered dimly if Jarre had seen her as well. Did it even matter?

No, nothing did now. All the Sartans efforts had been for nothing, the lands were growing more chaotic. And now there was this young man, this man with the bandaged hands…

_There is nothing there._

He whispered the rune magic, as quietly as possible, draping everyone in the cell to the comfort of sleep. Even the young man called Haplo was suspect to it. Alfred watched him breathe evenly. He watched his dog remain still, dark nose poking through a bushy tail. No, if Haplo had fallen under the spell, surely that meant he could not really be what Alfred had thought he was. Even if he had expended more effort when he cast it on Haplo, even though his heart was beating frantically at the sight of those hands.

_Don't be foolish. There is nothing there!_

Alfred took his time standing up, nearly an hour or more. The enchantment was sound. No one would hear him if he screamed or banged at the walls, let alone walk softly across the floor. But it was difficult. He didn't want to be right. He was too tired, too frightened, why couldn't he have continued to sleep away the years with her? Why did he have to wake up to nothingness?

When he bent over Haplo, eyes locked on the man's face, he dared not breathe. Haplo was young, perhaps around 25 cycles, but there were lines of hardship on his face, so subtle and hidden away that it could only be seen from such a close distance. But everyone on Arianus faced suffering and hardship. It didn't make this man any more likely to be something else entirely.

_You'll laugh after all this is over. There is nothing there after all._

He swallowed, shifting away the bandages, peering at the skin beneath. Curling shapes of blue and red greeted him through the dark.

The Patryn's runes were made of the same symbols as his own, but were foreign to his eyes all the same. The lines curved at slightly different angles, branching at different pathways, shorter and concise. But it was their arrangement that unnerved him, patterned in their own separate words. Runes that he could understand individually, changed drastically when set next to another, shifting their context. An organization of alphabets that clashed with his own perception, threatening his understanding.

The runes were second-nature to him, or at least they used to be. He could still trace their shapes through the air, could still sing their sad melody, could still move his body to dance to their mysterious rhythm. But it'd been years, centuries, since he'd felt the true thrill of it, the act of weaving reality without missing a step, without fear of being seen. Either he did small, insignificant things, or rushed through his spells too fast to let it dwell in his mind.

He was sure this man was more comfortable with the magic, more attuned. More dangerous.

Alfred couldn't stop the tears from coming. He hastily fixed up the bandages with shaking hands. Would it be too late now to crawl through the vent, to find the hidden crypt beneath the Geg's dwellings, to lay inside his tomb and sleep away this nightmare? It was only there where he felt the magic come back in its true form, dancing to the hexagonal runes on the floor, lighting up their power, remembering when it was so easy to bring forth fruit and water without worry.

_I can't face this alone!_

Alfred stood up, but he was shaking so much, so overcome with dread that he stumbled. A habit born of protection, now forever ingrained in his body. He fell, his knees hitting against the metal floor painfully. His hands caught on the vat's sides, preventing him from hitting his head on impact. His leg moved against something soft. He opened his eyes and looked down.

The Patryn was below him, still in sleep. Alfred realized that he was only inches away from the other's face, that he could see several thin strands of hair resting over his eyes, dark brown ending in a white tip.

The Sartan couldn't move. Why not? What made it so difficult to just lift himself to his feet? His body, always disobeying, always leading him into more trouble than he could handle. And he couldn't stop staring at Haplo.

That was when he heard the shift in breathing, saw the body stir, the eyes moving beneath their lids.

"Oh no," he whispered.

Haplo moved slowly, like a man trapped in heavy binds. He stretched his back slightly, eyes beginning to flutter open. Alfred was unable to move away. He was beginning to feel the familiar dizziness, the routinely shutting down of his body. It took all his will to keep himself conscious, thinking, shouting inside his head,  _Of all times to faint! Don't do it now! Anytime but now! Don't faint on top of him!_

He caught the brief glimpse of blue; startlingly bright, like crystal, like the shining lake from years past. The spell hadn't completely worn off, the Patryn looking on at Alfred like a sleepwalker who had wandered into the unfamiliar.

"What…is…" His voice came out, husky and subdued. Not like the casual, matter-of-fact tone he had been carrying with everyone. Alfred felt like he had stumbled onto something intensely private, something rare. The thought only made him lock his limbs in place ever tighter, sending his mind into a panic.

Haplo raised up one of his hands. The bandage hadn't been completely wrapped, compliments of Alfred's handiwork. The runes glowed lightly in the darkness of the vat, the soft blue matching with his eyes, the lurid red painting his cheeks. They reached for Alfred's face, and the Sartan was certain he was about to die. He waited in horrid anticipation for the Patryn to burn him away, and could only think that at least now he could join with Lya, and be cemented in the knowledge that, by himself, he truly could do nothing at all.

He flinched as the fingers brushed against his cheek, but not because it stung or burned or seared him through. The touch was simply that; a touch that felt warm to his skin. It was gentle, thoughtful. Like a caress almost, except that shouldn't be.

He looked down at Haplo, whose eyes were still caught in some dream. Blue glinted in the darkness, finding some memory, something warm and comforting. He thought he could even see the Patryn's lips form into a smile, and suddenly, he was nothing at all that the Sartan could have imagined. There was sincerity, longing…things he recognized, and knew he should not be seeing at all.

_Because this is not meant for me._

Finally, when the Patryn's body started to shift, when his voice mumbled something unintelligible and thoughtful and heartbreaking, Alfred blinked. Quickly, he whispered the rune-magic again, one hand gripped on Haplo's arm, unaware that it had wandered there, his body stubborn in its independence.

Haplo's eyelids lowered. His chest rose up and down evenly. His hand slowly fell against the floor, the runes dark, nothing but ink.

It took Alfred an eternity to move his body again. He rearranged the bandages once more, making sure they were put on tight this time, his fingers working with a deftness few would see. When he finally walked back over to his corner, curling up against the wall, he let himself be guided away by his confusion. He clutched his blanket around himself, trying to rid himself of the memory of the Patryn's hands. Not just because of the tattooed runes anymore.

He knew what the eyes saw. They had been trapped, blissfully lost in a memory long since passed. It reminded him. He was over her, and she was smiling up at him, sharing a secret, unspoken.

…No, a god was certainly not immune to love.


	2. Elven Star: Silence

The woman was a strange occurrence. She had appeared from the darkness of the Labyrinth; a pattern of whirls moving in the shadows, gracefully circling around him toward the terrible cat-like creature that he had been fighting. Twice his size, baring twin fangs that jutted from the roof of its mouth in a sharp curve, it had wounded his side with them, where his runes weren't as strongly knit. One of the long teeth was stained a bright red.

He wasn't in danger of dying; he had survived far worse encounters with even larger, more intelligent enemies. It didn't make the wound he'd sustained any less irritating however, and the woman that sped past him was a welcoming relief. Long, chestnut hair billowing out behind her, she moved with great speed, the magic of her runes giving her the ability to blindside the monster, leaving it only enough time to turn its head.

Wielding a heavy spear, marked with the same rune-magic as her and Haplo's bodies, she plunged it through its eye, making the creature cry out furiously as blood spurted to the ground. The symbols on the weapon glowed a blinding red, and then there was a sickening sound coming from the cat's body, of bones breaking, of organs rupturing from an unknown strain. It immediately collapsed to the floor like some pitiful doll, the kind that Patryn children soon learn to throw away in exchange for a sharp knife. Its mouth was still open, saliva and blood drowning the dry grasses beneath it.

She wasted no time in retrieving the spear, wrenching it out of the body with a loud squelch. Hefting it easily in her left hand, she walked toward Haplo who was standing tall despite shaky knees. A hand was pressed against his side, the flesh closing as the spidery lines of the runes formed around the wound. He watched the woman warily as he did this, noting her attire; loose trousers that only went down to her knees and a shirt that was already torn apart.

Haplo, born in the violence of the Labyrinth, had little time for leisure or love throughout his life. It had been a particularly tough 17 gates for him, especially when adolescence visited upon his loner nature. He wasn't indifferent to the woman before him, to the way her body moved gracefully around the steaming carcass of the monster, how her chest heaved with exertion, how the blood from the spear dripped on her hand in small rivulets. It was very rare to find beauty in the Labyrinth, and when he ever did, it was always tainted by the Labyrinth's very presence, infected with the constant struggle to survive, with the oncoming dread of the next day to do it all over until death ultimately came. Yet this woman, despite the grim and violent surroundings, seemed to silently revel at her kill, at her own power, and that, suddenly, made her very beautiful to his eyes.

Her own eyes were hard, her face impassive. With a cold stare, she glanced at his wound that was already vanishing, leaving only large swaths of blood on his bare skin. Haplo didn't thank her for her help. She didn't expect any. The Patryns worked as a unit, sharing everything, working together for survival, for if they didn't, their whole race would've died out long ago. Still, Runners like him were an isolated people, relying solely on themselves to reach the Gates, unlike the Squatters that banded together for their strength in numbers while moving much slower. He knew the woman was also a Runner, steeped in her own solitude. Any sudden conversations would have been intensely strange.

Propping her spear against her shoulder, the woman clasped her tattooed hands, putting her thumbs against her forehead. The complete circle. An introduction to show that she was indeed a Patryn, and not a deadly illusion concocted by the Labyrinth. Haplo did the same gesture, though he cringed slightly with the movement, pain flaring up at his side. He was sure he kept it from showing on his face, but the woman appeared to have seen right through him.

"I will watch over you as you sleep," she offered. Her voice was factual yet gentle, clashing with the coldness of her tone.

Haplo stared. He knew he needed the healing sleep to fully restore his body's strength, and to do so left him vulnerable to many terrible things. But the woman offering him even more help by standing by him was a bit unusual. It almost seemed like she was choosing to stay as a traveling companion.

Seeing his confusion, the woman turned away toward the south. "The nearest Squatters camp is ten miles away," she said and nothing more.

Traditionally, Runners went to the camps for rest and shelter in exchange for information on the current area and the nearest Gate. It would certainly take Haplo a long time to get to the camp in his condition, and he concluded that there must be some advantage for the woman choosing to stay. Perhaps she too was in need of rest. Her tattered clothes suggested she had been in more than one fight recently.

Silently, he nodded, gesturing toward a small smattering of trees that covered the cavern where he made his own camp.

In later years, when the woman had already left him, it would be the first night that was the hardest to remember for him. Images flowed into each other, their details blurred, but their colors so vivid and richly felt in his chest. There was the woman sitting just inside of the cave opening, watching their surroundings. Her back was to him, now bare once she threw away the useless shirt, as he drifted in and out of sleep. The coming of night, a time that never brought much relief but a heightened sense of awareness, was interrupted with the sounds of soft and guarded breathing, of the feel of naked flesh beneath his hands, the sight of the beautiful pattern of blue and red symbols before him.

He wasn't sure what small action had instigated their passion, but he wrapped around her in gratitude, in a rare sense of happiness he hadn't felt since he was a child. And even though she held him with the same desire, the need for comfort in a world ruled by death, her eyes were shadowed, haunted by not what was outside but lying with them.

He last remembered her poised above him, her bare chest pressed against his own, her hair brushing his face. Haplo had smiled then, reaching out a hand to caress her cheek, to tangle his fingers in her hair, to bring her head to meet with his own. But her eyes moved through him, melancholic, regretful. Back then he couldn't understand just why she had been so sad, still riding on the euphoric feeling of their love-making, making the mistake that maybe life wasn't so terrible after all.

But when he had left that Squatters camp years later, moving in a hurry after hearing of a woman that had looked just like her, and how she had spent a night with another Patryn in that very same place…

Those eyes, saddened because love in the Labyrinth, where all beautiful things eventually break and rust, couldn't last…

* * *

The room was the epitome of Sartan architecture; complete with a high-domed ceiling, everything washed in the color of pure, blinding white. Graceful arches decorated the sides, their surfaces etched with the traditional hexagonal runes. There was a slight blue glow to their characters, a sign of the magic still active, still holding up the ancient structure, preventing crumble and decay.

Many would have been awed at the design, but Haplo simply took note of the details, filing it away for later use. He had already seen such construction back at the Nexus, an abode made from the Sartan for their enemies after they had been cured from their dominant, ambitious nature. And just like there, this citadel, this room, was absent of their Sartan masters. Haplo was sure that every other citadel on Pryan would reflect the same emptiness.

There was a large round table placed in the middle of the room, ringed with a dozen or so high-backed chairs. A large globe hung suspended over the table, showcasing the four burning suns of Pryan in the middle- revealing to Haplo on how the world was truly constructed. The surface of the massive world formed its outer shell with the sky and suns placed in its hollow center, a phenomenon he was sure the Sartan never intended.

Around this table, a flurry of ghostly images moved around, replaying past events and conversations, detailing regrets, confusion, and a slight, barely contained form of panic. Clad in white, saintly robes, the number of the Sartan lessened significantly as time passed, fast-forwarded through the rune-magic Haplo had summoned. Youthful faces became wrinkled, their skin creased with age and worry. Elders were replaced by another generation, they too subject to the years, each group growing smaller, weaker.

Finally, there was only one left. Haplo watched in silence as the lone Sartan, seated in one of the chairs across from him, raised its head, looking straight at him.

"You of our brethren who may one day come into this chamber are undoubtedly lost in amazement at what you have found- or failed to find…"

Satisfaction didn't come so easily to Haplo. He had to coax it out, repeating inside his head that this was just punishment for his enemies- and how it wasn't enough. He knew that none of it even came close to the degrading torture that the Patryns had suffered in their Labyrinth, or jail, or rehabilitation center- whatever term the Sartan felt like using one day.

Still, it unnerved him, just slightly, to see the once powerful demigods turn old and bent in rapid time. Ageing, dwindling, slowly vanishing, until there was only the one seated before him, speaking to no one in the past, to Haplo in the future. A depressing prospect, one that affected the lone Patryn a bit too much for his tastes.

The comforting anger that had warmed his bones during his viewing, even sparking to a dangerous inferno at one point, had now been cooled down, replaced by thoughtful melancholy, by a faint yet certain sense of unease. He didn't like it at all.

"You have, through your magic, viewed our history," the Sartan spoke. His voice was subdued, weighed down, the act of speech made difficult. He made a feeble gesture toward Haplo, at the unseen runes he had summoned to witness this final speech. "You now know the terrible mistakes we made."

The dog was by his side, black head on its paws, its brown eyes much more somber than it should have seemed for any normal canine. It looked on the image rather sadly, occasionally turning its head toward its master who did his best to reveal nothing on his face. As the voice continued it's tragic tale, it's disappointment pervading from its lonely generation to another, the dog decided to stand up, stretching out its furry body languidly. It paced around the Patryn, its nails clacking against the hard floor. It looked all around, searching for something that it itself wasn't sure of. It eventually locked its gaze solely on the Sartan image, then quickly trotted over to it, circling around the table.

"Dog, come back," Haplo called after it, his tone surprisingly harsh. The animal turned its head, its pointed ears flicking.

Haplo patted his thigh, gesturing at the spot the dog had occupied before. There was no mistaking the command.

"Dog!"

Wagging its bushy tail, said dog promptly disobeyed its master and walked toward the Sartan image, its tongue lolling from its jaws. It stood up on its hind legs, placing its forepaws on the arms of the chair. The paws went through the image. The voice continued on, undisturbed, unaware of the animal that would become fascinated with it centuries later.

The Patryn frowned. He tried to grasp at the Sartan's message so that he could relate it to his Lord, showcasing another failure of their wretched enemy. But it was already hard enough to pay attention, his thoughts turning darker as he caught the glimpses of despair underlining the voice. The dog trying to play with the illusion didn't help things.

Frustrated, he started to march toward the dog to drag it back, not in the mood for any of its games. Just why it was so partial to this Sartan long dead? He knew this wouldn't be the first time the dog revealed its strange affection toward other creatures, such as with that dwarven woman, or that bumbling, tall man from the previous world. What was his name again?…

The dog was sitting on its haunches, tail thumping the floor, patiently awaiting its master. Haplo moved closer, frowning at the animal. "Come on, you dumb mutt," he grounded out, then caught a glint from his right. He looked up, staring at the faded image of the Sartan's hooded face.

The head had turned just slightly, as if just now it had heard his words across time, seen his movement like some phantasm crossing through the barriers. The voice had even paused- stopping in mid-sentence, waiting.

Haplo didn't move, his heart beating just a tad faster. The Sartan was just a recorded memory- how could it react to his presence? It was absurd.

It was only a moment. The Sartan turned away, directing his gaze forward, continuing his tale.

He didn't even bother paying attention to the words. There was a sudden curiosity, gnawing at him, childish in its tenacity. The glint he had seen came from the memory of the reflection of the eyes, the memory of the four makeshift suns of Pryan shining on the man's face. He suddenly wanted to know what this Sartan looked like.

The Patryn knew he shouldn't even be thinking of satisfying such a trivial thing, but he found himself moving forward a couple of steps, just enough to get a reasonable glance at the figure. The face was hidden in the robes- as was his entire body. There was only the brief outline of a torso, arms and legs. Fingertips just barely peeked out from the sleeves, resting on the arms of the chair.

Haplo slowly lowered his head, just enough to try to see through the confines of the Sartan's hood. The memory of the ancient runes in the stone were weak, the image of the seated man before him fuzzy, winking in and out of existence. He wasn't sure just  _why_  he was expending any effort in this. Not like he would recognize the man whose voice was warped by time.

Just as he figured, when he caught the Sartan's face, all he saw was an old, broken shell of a god. Useless, powerless, unable to fix their world, perfection and harmony out of their grasp. The eyes were dull, lines forming on his forehead. It looked almost like the man had not slept much before delivering his final message.

The look was familiar, much more than he cared to admit. It reminded him of the other Sartan he had met on Arianus. He recalled the man back in the castle, standing before him, not shying away from his rage, resigned to his own incompetence.

_The jailer didn't leave, the jailer died._

"We had planned, those of the few of us who remain, to live in the citadels in peace. We hoped to find some means to regain control over the tytans, find some way to communicate with the other worlds."

The voice slid into his own memories effortlessly, drawing him back to the present. The image of the Sartan gripped the sides of his stone chair. His voice was weak, cracking, as if trying to hold back tears. Shoulders rolled forward, hunching the man, unable to lift his head to face forward anymore. The Patryn's view of his face was now obscured.

"But that is not to be."

The picture of terrible loneliness. And all he could think of was that man, dressed in the ridiculous court livery of the mensch, standing before him. Small and self-pitying, prepared for retribution, for a crime his ancestors committed.  _As he should_ , Haplo said to himself, wondering why he needed to even say so in the first place. All such problems could be traced back to the Sartan, the so-called protectors of the mensch and their worlds. It was because of the Sartan that Pryan was falling towards destruction, the tytans mercilessly slaughtering those they were sent to watch over, no longer having their masters to control their simply yet brutally effective magic. It was the Sartan that created that hell of a Labyrinth where his people suffered continuously,  _and still were,_  fighting bravely against their enemies' twisted creations! It was the Sartan that had taken away his parents, tearing them to pieces! The Sartan that, in their mission for beauty, made everything ugly instead, twisting it, breaking it down, like his brief moment of happiness, like her eyes that were so soft, taking him over.

There was darkness, familiar, an old friend that hid him as well as his enemies. His eyes were growing heavy in the shadows as he made out the face before him. He reached out to feel warmth, and there was that same man's face above his own, middle-aged, hair in a white fringe around his head, his eyes full of longing and sadness.

Haplo started. Wait…That last memory- that didn't make sense. Since when had  _that_  occurred?

The dog sauntered up to him, laying at his feet, looking at its master expectantly. Haplo paid it little attention, focusing again on the memory that was already trying to elude him.

There was the woman, her dark eyes made darker by the shadows of night. She was above him, silent. He blinked, and then his surroundings were blurry, out-of-focus- much more than before, with a shadow hovering before him. It took him a while to make out the eyes staring at him, barely taking a breath. But they were not hers, even if, somehow, they had the same glaze of sadness over them.

Running a hand through his own hair, Haplo tried to make sense of it. How did the Sartan intrude on his own memories like that? How was it even possible? He was suddenly angry, wanting to banish this invasive presence that came in the form of some older man whose shoulders continually slumped, who throughout his entire time on Arianus had always been staring at the Patryn with that same depressing gaze.

How could he and the woman even have the same eyes? Overcome, weary, knowing nothing can last. Somehow, that thought was the one that frustrated him the most. Because what did it say of the Sartan and…

He felt a wet tongue against his hand, and looked down at the dog that was trying to catch his attention. He blinked, suddenly remembering where he was. His mind was in such disarray. He tried to call back his self-discipline, but it was the words, spoken by the ghost in the chamber, that made him focus again.

"It cannot be fought, cannot be placated. Tears do not move it, nor do all the weapons we have at our command. Too late, we have come to admit its existence."

The Sartan clasped his hands together. Haplo thought it a strange gesture, not entirely sure what it meant. The fingers, the palms pressing against each other tightly, locked in place. The Sartan raised his head once more, glancing to his right. Haplo didn't move.

"We bow before it, and take our leave."

The image faded, like a sigh, a last, painful breath. The Patryn remained silent for a long while before trying to use his rune-magic to summon another memory. But nothing came after, leaving him with only the quiet that had lived in this room for endless years.

The dog was turning its head, looking for that presence that it had felt before. Haplo kept his eyes on the suspended globe, on the four suns of Pryan, thinking of how the Sartan had turned to him again, as if it had finally found the source, and yet was not surprised by it at all.

He eventually left the chamber, making his way underneath the citadel and coming upon the machinery that dug its way through Pryan's crust. He had already figured out the Sartan had used the long shafts to draw the energy from the immensely large world and its suns, transferring it through Death's Gate. He kept concise notes for his Lord to look over, presenting both evidence and his own theories on the enemies' intentions. He was able to split himself; one side being the loyal tool of his lord gathering all the knowledge of Pryan, the other a man that constantly went over his own confused memories, intercepted with the Sartan's words, overwhelmed by another Sartan's face.

His anger had long ago faded, leaving him with a slight chill. Perhaps the ghost's words had weighed on him much more than he realized, wondering just what force could have made the powerful Sartan cower before it.

 _It's more than that,_  he finally admitted to himself. The dog had been staring at him the entire time, giving the occasional bark, strangely ecstatic now that they had left the chamber.

What could have made the man on Arianus look at him like that, lost and unsure, wanting to share something with him, but couldn't? But he shook his head, because that could never have happened. Useless. All it did was bring the woman to mind, and he wouldn't dare make the connection between her and that Sartan, to say that similar feelings had run through them both, to somehow imply that the enemy could in any way understand such things…

He remembered the woman's name, having purposefully locked it away. Stripping her of her name made the memories easier, losing their power over him. For a while, he had even forgotten it. But now he was forced to remember- the Patryn woman that had rushed to his aid, slaughtering his attacker. Marit, that was her name.

And no matter how hard he tried to block the thought, it brought him to another, to the lonely Sartan, who had also, somehow, hovered above him in a strange imitation of the memory that still felt as real.

Alfred, that was his name. Alfred.


	3. Fire Sea, Part 1: Recognition

Haplo knew about pain. It had been bred into him through his trials in the Labyrinth, ingrained into his skin, his bones, his very heart. It was not like a friend or an acquaintance, but much closer than either. Pain brought memories of his parents demise, his head knocked to the ground as they led the monsters away from their only child. It brought memories of the chaodyn that had crushed his shoulder with its sword, trying to block him from the last gate. It brought forth the first spark of hatred, the intoxicating feeling of triumph.

But pain had never been this degrading, this… _humiliating_.

It brought him to his knees, struggling to breathe, his every nerve consumed by fire. He first sensed the discomfort hours ago, unsure how to interpret it. It didn't make any sense. Though Kleitus kept him in this prison, he was still needed to show him Death's Gate. So he denied the poison moving through him. He collapsed on his side not long after that, trying to suppress a scream.

Pain held him down, made him vulnerable, made him vomit continuously; first the contents of his stomach, then a horrible black liquid. It didn't inspire or push him onwards. All it did was made him wonder why.

The dynast of Necropolis had visited him then, when he had been lying on his back. His body was shaking, his skin incredibly cold. He barely had the strength to turn his head.

"Is it killing you?" Kleitus asked, standing just outside of the cell.

Haplo thought he had never heard a more inane question. His response was to hack up black spittle. A mixture of red was in the substance. His throat felt raw.

"Why?" he asked, coughing out the word painfully. His vision was starting to fail, the dynast blending too much with the darkness, giving the impression that the Patryn was only speaking to the walls. "I would have taken you…"

"Ah, yes. But you see, we already know Death's Gate location. We do not need you…not for that."

The dynast's shape glided toward him, his steps eerily silent, his robes remaining still, hanging from him like black glass. "No, not for the gate, but for what you possess."

Haplo had just enough strength to grab the hem of Kleitus' robe, the material continually slipping through his fingers, like tendrils, like snakes. He felt the other's hand on his, tracing his runes that glowed and dimmed, too weak to protect their wielder. He knew. His magic. He knew.

"We could not afford to damage them," Kleitus explained. It didn't sound like he was speaking to Haplo. He was detailing his plans out loud, marveling at his own work. "There is nothing more to be gained from our own magic. It's drained us. We've realized this upon meeting you and the power you've tried to hide from us. We could throw a thousand spears at you, and it would do no good. We could bring the castle crashing down on your shoulders and you would walk out from the rubble. The poison was a useful way to bring you to defeat, all without a harmful scratch on your person. Now we can study your magic, unblemished, whole and intact."

Haplo wanted to pull his hand away, but all he managed was a loosening of his grip, letting go of the robe. The dynast's fingers continued their examination, their touch like the feel of spiders crawling on his skin. Haplo coughed violently, his eyes cutting through the dark.

The dynast stopped immediately, rising to his full height. "And then there is your ally- the one who can bring death to the dead."

"Not…friend," Haplo uttered, losing sense of what was happening. The darkness was pulsing, moving through his head. "Enemy," but the word was lost, his lungs already running out of air, leaving him gasping.

Kleitus took a moment to answer. The Patryn could hear the smile in his voice. "Is that so? A man who risks his own life to save yours? Then this enemy of yours is certainly unorthodox."

Haplo gritted his teeth, wanting to argue. His hands scrabbled at the stones beneath him, needing to lift himself up. He was barely able to move an inch before his body gave out.

"He abhors necromancy, and would never come to bring your corpse back to life." Kleitus looked away, to the other cell across from Haplo that housed the dead prince of Kairn Telest. Three days had passed, and the Patryn easily guessed the other reason the dynast had come here. "He would flee this world, leaving him lost to us. But we have determined that there must be a connection between the two of you. From what we have heard, your friend seems to know that you are dying, and believes that there is a chance to save you. There isn't, of course, but it will bring him to us regardless."

The dynast was walking away, the rest of his words falling away into the abyss, muffled, distorted. Haplo felt his lips move, asking something, but he couldn't hear it. He laid his head back on the floor, coated with dust and grime, with the dark liquid that kept spilling from his mouth. The pain was slowly beginning to fade, and he knew it was only doing so because he was so close to death.

It did not lessen the embarrassment, the hurt pride. He had failed his lord, failed himself. He imagined Xar waiting for him in the Nexus, confident that his son would return to him with valuable knowledge, bringing him one step closer to ruling the sundered worlds. He imagined time passing, Xar's face slowly slipping into disappointment. The Patryn tried to lash out against the poison, whispering the runes to break its hold on him, to give him back the strength to tear down the stone walls, to turn Kleitus' bones to dust. They were actions he knew he should've done before any of this happened, but he had been careless. This world had made him weak and foolish.

The struggle to survive was strong, as it always was. But the rune magic fell useless from his lips, dripping from his mouth like dying flies. He could only think of one thing that would save him. He recalled, unpleasantly, to Alfred rushing to save him, falling over his legs as the cadaver guard swung his sword at them both. Words of magic shot forth from the Sartan, wrenching them out painfully. Bringing death to the dead, undoing years of necromancy in a single moment, granting peace.  _Your friend seems to know that you are dying…_

Haplo hoped- maddeningly- that he would be long dead before the Sartan ever came.

* * *

 _These are not my memories_.

He was stumbling out of the mausoleum, his knees aching after hours of kneeling on the stone floor. He struggled to breathe. His despair hadn't lessened, but his tears had long stopped, leaving him with nothing but stinging eyes and a clogged throat. There was a vain hope in his head. Maybe there were still others left alive on the world. He couldn't have been the only one. Even though all of the Sartan had been entombed in stasis, and that the only empty glass coffin had been his very own.

_These are not mine._

White robes fluttered around him. Their material felt cool against his skin, their stark whiteness standing out against the dark corridor. The stone walls were smooth, unmarked by age or decay. There were no crumbling surfaces, no dust that covered them. He saw the runes- an unexpected comfort, welcome and familiar to his suffering mind- etched into the wall.

He whispered the magic reflexively, bringing the ancient language to life, their characters glowing a gentle blue. They led the way from the mausoleum into the tunnels in a straight line, parallel to each other on the walls. He took in the sight. It was a simple spell, one of the very first he had learned, the guiding runes created to lead his people through the underground of Drevlin. But he remembered how fascinated he had been by the light when he was a child. It was nothing special, taken for granted as he grew older- convinced that such things would always be there.

The runes had taken a moment to activate, as if searching for the energies to continue. If someone had woken before him, they would have used the spell as well. There would be traces of it in the air, the remembered melody still faint but alive in the darkness. He had felt nothing. He was the first person to have even entered this corridor in centuries.

_Stop this! None of this is mine!_

Alfred stood huddled in the doorway, shivering in his robes, terrified of what he would find- or not find- if he continued his journey from the underground to the surface. Haplo, trapped within the Sartan's memory, wanted to shout and scream, to tear away the robes that were so alien to him. He looked to his hands -no, Alfred's hands- aged with deep creases lining the palms, completely bare of the dark patterns the Patryn had seen all his life.

The last thing he remembered was escaping Jera and Kleitus, their dead yearning to tear apart the living, and how angered he had been after coming out of his trance from the strange table in that chamber. It was the spell Alfred had cast, making him relive someone else's last moments, making him speak words that were not his own. He had fallen asleep after their escape, exhausted, needing to heal. But Alfred's magic must have had some aftereffects on his mind. It was the only explanation as to why he was dreaming this.

And he knew it was a dream. But he couldn't wake from it, nor could he will himself- or Alfred- to do what he wanted. He was subject to the Sartan's movements, to his thoughts, to the crippling sensation of hopelessness. Alfred was on the verge of sobbing again, despite having no more tears left, and Haplo found that he was as well. His heart was beating rapidly, his pulse loud in his ears.  _Why should I care? These are my enemies! They all got what they deserved!_  But Alfred's thoughts kept intruding on his own. These people had been his dearest friends, full of hope- such a foolish thing now- to create a better world. They had been children, hopeful and eager, and now they were gone.

There had been Anna, no longer breathing. He had loved her, still did. But she was dead, and he was alive. Nothing left, nothing but responsibilities to fix a world that must now be long broken. Chosen to live, to set it all right again. It was laughable, completely and horribly laughable…

Haplo didn't understand. Alfred had not been altogether that simple to understand regardless, but the new train of thought had left him stranded. He knew he was coming across some sacred information of the man, but couldn't fathom whatever dark humor the Sartan was thinking of. It left something hollow in his chest, and the Patryn wasn't sure he would be able to take more of this emotional pain.

_I don't care about any of this. Stop forcing this on me, Sartan!_

He hated this more than anything. The loneliness was too familiar. He felt like a child again, weeping for his parents that were lying on the ground, their bodies torn and unrecognizable.

"I can't do this," Alfred was rambling, hugging himself, biting his lip. "I can't do this. Not alone! No!"

Something was tearing inside him. Madness, the realization that the world laid out before him was huge, gigantic, with no place for him. Not unless he came out declaring to all the mensch of what he was. Perhaps the people here still remembered their ancient protectors, the god-like beings that formed their floating isles. They would worship him, plead for him, asking for riches and wealth, for war and genocide. Alfred trembled, not at the mensch's demands, but at the thought that he would fulfill them.

Haplo wondered, briefly, if he would do the same. He felt no qualms about taking control. That was the role of the Patryns; taking control of the weak, exploiting them for all they were worth. Their Sartan counterparts had been appalled at such dictatorial ideals and had shut them away. But they were no different, only covering up their actions with words of peace, with ideas of paradise. And he knew that Alfred, in his own brief epiphany, realized this as well.

 _What does it matter?_  Haplo asked, speaking to the man he was trapped within, unsure why he was even doing so.  _At least you'd be taking control of something in your life for once!_  But were they his words, or just an echo of Alfred's own?

The Sartan had retreated back to the mausoleum, making the runes grow cold again. He looked toward the crypts, their crystalline surfaces calming him down. Haplo would have scoffed at the man's cowardice, except he did feel a lot better now that they were back in here. Better and worse. These Sartan would never breathe again, trapped in their repose like perfect statues.

"If I leave, what then?" Alfred asked of his friends. His voice cracked, his words bleeding from him. "How can I fix anything? Even…even with all of you with me, things kept falling apart. Every problem we fixed, two more would emerge in its place. And I would only make things worse. I was never good at this…at any of this…"

Alfred waited. The silence was deafening to Haplo's ears. He dimly realized that the Sartan was expecting an answer from the dead, as if convinced that they were gathered around him, their faces blushed with color. Not pale, not still.

He felt Alfred -himself- slipping away. The Sartan was going willingly to the illusion that he was not alone. There was a flash of a woman before him, her face obscured by light. She merged with other bodies, a mass of loving arms.

 _No,_  Haplo thought harshly, mentally grabbing at Alfred's mind, shaking him.  _NO._  For Alfred to drown would mean the death of himself, and he wasn't sure if he would ever wake if such a thing were to happen.  _You don't lay down to die when you're given the chance to live. You take it!_

Alfred was staring ahead, uncomfortably quiet, the only sounds in the mausoleum being his rapid breathing. He shook his head, blinking away the dizziness. Haplo's mind felt clear all the sudden, as if he had just been suffocating.

"You're right…you're right…" Alfred whispered.

Haplo felt himself grow cold. He couldn't have actually heard him. It brought back the disturbing memory of the faded Sartan from Pryan, looking inward to the future from his past.

But it wasn't Haplo that Alfred was referring to. Still seeing through the man's eyes, he saw the woman, no longer engulfed by a fog of limbs. Her image was ethereal, insubstantial. She was not standing on the floor, not particularly. Her feet didn't connect with the stone. The hem of her white robes, the same robes that Alfred also wore, brushed through the stone as if it were water.

It uncomfortably reminded him of the phantasms in Abarrach, their forms weeping silently as their dead bodies were never allowed rest. But this woman had no body to chain her. And even though Haplo couldn't make out the details of her face- still suffused by some strange light- he thought he could detect the faint trace of a smile, her lips curved. Peaceful, like the guard that Alfred had killed…

"It's just that you've always held me up. Without you, I can barely move…" Alfred spoke to the ghost. The man wasn't completely free of his own delusions. Not yet anyway. Haplo could feel the Sartan edge away, reluctantly, afraid to wake up and find the sky still so very dark.

Haplo didn't want to look at her. Maybe it was the light, or the blurred details of her eyes, her mouth, her every part of her face, but gazing at her for too long hurt his head immensely. He couldn't turn away, because Alfred wouldn't do so. He was sure the Sartan shared the same pain. Perhaps it was his own entirely, and the Patryn was forced into enduring it alongside him.  _Why can't I wake up?_

"I didn't want to wake up to this…Why did it have to be me?" Alfred cried out to the air, slowly repairing the broken pieces of his mind. Haplo felt the edges cut through his heart, which only made him resent the man even more. "I don't understand. If I at least had you by my side…I'm not strong! You know that!"

The Patryn started to wonder if they were going to be in here with Alfred's inner demons all day. He was a patient man (when he needed to be), but the Sartan kept finding new ways to test his limits. That and somehow make his heart twist too much, wringing out empathy that he had been taught to eradicate completely.

The woman slightly tilted her head, details no longer as indistinct. A cowl covered her head, long hair sneaking out from their shelter. She raised a hand toward Alfred in a small gesture, and spoke.

At least, Haplo assumed she did. He saw the transparent lips move, but he heard nothing make it past them. He waited, focusing on her. No, that wasn't exactly true. He did hear something- a strange sound, like chimes, soft and barely audible. Some kind of music?

If he saw her this way, he knew Alfred did as well. A gentle feeling washed over them both, eerily similar to that feeling in the chamber with all the skeletons laying on the floor. He didn't like it.

"O…okay," Alfred said, barely able to breathe. He had raised his own hand, unable to control his own shaking. With a deep sigh, he lowered it. "I'll go…if you want me to."

The Sartan started to turn, looking towards the opening. The darkness was thick, ready to swallow the rest of the mausoleum once he left.

"But if…if it's okay…I would just like to stay a moment longer…" Alfred clasped his hands, staring down at his feet in shame. "I promise I'll leave. I just need to see…"

Haplo sighed inwardly in frustration. _Stop stalling already._

Alfred raised his head toward the ghost, but she had already vanished, leaving only the empty crypts surrounding them. Taking a deep breath, he walked forward, maneuvering around them, sparing each and every one a quick glance. Haplo felt the touch of other memories, leaving their mark, all of it foreign, all of it heartbreaking. He gave up on trying to block them off. It was less tiring that way.

They eventually came upon two of the crystal tombs, one of them empty, the other housing a slim form. Alfred looked at the latter, intense love aching in his chest. As he moved closer, Haplo was able to see the person much more clearly. Young, long white hair pillowed her head, eyes closed as if in sleep. She wore the pure white robes of the Sartan, the same that hung off Alfred's frame.

Haplo knew this was the same woman that he had seen before in that memory, when both he and Alfred traveled through Death's Gate, making the mistake of trying to stay conscious. But without the previous horrible turmoil and discovery, he was able to examine her better, falling back into the lapse of observation he had always done. He imagined her head covered, the hair just slightly hidden, her being translucent as water…

Alfred had his hands on the glass, staring down at her. The man's thoughts took over again; he could look at her forever. Maybe he would waste away, finally joining her. But he was afraid of dying, just as he was afraid of living. He could not follow her.

Haplo, in turn, gazed down at the Sartan called Anna -the name felt strange, a coating for something else- and was reminded of the woman back in the Labyrinth. He suddenly wondered if she was still alive, or perhaps she had already succumbed to the prison as so many had done. Something ached inside him. He tried to push it away.

He felt the memory weakening, the heaviness of his own limbs. For a brief moment, the scene changed- to muted colors, to his own bandaged hands, to a face much too close to his very own.

* * *

Only one thought entered his head upon waking-  _I should leave right now._

Haplo took deep breaths. The healing sleep had done its job. Well, mostly. He still shook a little, and his chest slightly burned at certain moments. The dog looked up at him, wagging its tail contently.

The hallway was dark, the air stale. He could barely see the sleeping forms of both Jonathan and Alfred, the older man curled up against the wall, softly snoring. His black robes- a necromancer's, meant as a disguise- covered him like an ill-fitting blanket.

Haplo looked away quickly. His mind was still overrun with images; confusing, jumbled, as if he had dreamed several things at once, all of them overlapping. He didn't try very hard in piecing them together.

He concentrated on the physical; on his breathing, of the numbness in his fingers, his dry mouth. He was incredibly thirsty, but there wasn't a drop of water nearby. There must be some near the surface. He looked down the corridor, imagining a twisting pathway until it would finally slope upward. Yes, there must be some water up there- as well as magma, necromancers, and lazar whose echoes made his hair stand.

He was sick of this world.

"Dog, come," he whispered. He made a few steps forward, and looked back to find the animal stare at him, still far behind, near the sleeping Alfred.

"You're leaving."

Haplo stared back at the sealed door they had run through, escaping Jera and Kleitus' undead army. The cadaver of Prince Edmund stood before it, very still, his phantasm giving his body an otherworldly glow.

 _Why yes, and what else have you noticed?_  Haplo sorely wanted to say aloud his thoughts, but he bit them back, heaving a deep sigh. "I travel faster on my own."

"You will go on without the guiding runes."

The corpse liked mentioning the obvious apparently. "I've had enough of Sartan magic to last me a lifetime and more. Besides, I figure we're at the bottom. All I need to find is the passageway leading up."

Edmund showed no expression, nothing but complete apathy. Why did Haplo even bother trying to explain himself? He walked forward again, snapping his fingers at the dog who only now timidly followed.

"You will never reach your ship alive. You will become like the lazar, a soul trapped in its body, unable to die, swallowed by your hatred of the living. And every second you experience will be agony."

Haplo cradled the fear in his chest. It was a familiar feeling. Almost comforting. In the Labyrinth, fear was healthy, got you through the day, gave you more strength. He could survive this, even though whenever he remembered Jera's ever shifting face, his body felt undeniably cold.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He had always been in control; in Arianus with the Gegs, in Pryan with the squabbling mensch. The moment he arrived in Abarrach- no, the moment Alfred landed on his ship as it passed through Death's Gate, everything had gone wrong. It all led back to him.

"You will leave your friend behind."

"He's not my friend!" Haplo hissed out, just having enough sense to keep his voice low. Why did everyone keep referring to him as that? He was fed up with it. "He's nothing but a cowardly Sartan. Like the rest of you."

"So he is your enemy?" Edmund asked, and for a moment, he sounded genuinely sincere.

 _Of course he is!_  Haplo wanted to shout, except those choice of words didn't seem right. He wasn't even that anymore. He didn't know what Alfred was, just some stupid fool that wouldn't stop tripping over his own feet, that wouldn't stop following him.

"He saved your life."

"Don't remind me," Haplo answered quickly. He clenched his fists, still feeling the press of Alfred's hands on his own, dragging him back from darkness. "He only did that because he needs me to go through the Gate."

"He could go through on his own. Has he not done it before?"

Haplo wanted to laugh. The man couldn't go a dozen steps without causing some accident to his person. But unpleasantly, he recalled Alfred's story, on how he had been lowered on one of the Geg's contraptions in an odd moment of courage (most likely stupidity) toward the Gate, still looking for the human child, Bane.

How the hell did Edmund know about that anyway? Did Alfred mention it to him? And what else had he shared while Haplo had been sleeping?

"What are you saying then?" he asked, his voice low.

Edmund was silent, simply turning his gaze over to Alfred, who was now lying on his stomach.

"You think I care about him?" Haplo gestured toward the Sartan. "I'd be much happier now if he'd have just tripped himself into a pool of lava a week ago and spare me the stress."

"He cares for you."

Haplo glared. His hands shook again.

"It is true. He worries for you. But he doesn't understand."

"I sure as hell don't." Apparently everyone on Abrrach loved being cryptic. First about some damn prophecy, now this.

"Dog!" he hissed out, losing his patience. The animal trotted toward him dejectedly, occasionally turning its head toward the Sartan. He couldn't seem to leave because of a dog and a talking corpse. Never had he felt so frustrated with himself.

"You saved him as well, didn't you?" Edmund spoke once more, rooting him to the floor.

He remembered shoving aside Alfred, who had been staring at the coming arrow, frustrating in his incompetence.

"Only so that I wouldn't owe him any longer."

"That's not the reason."

"Then why don't you just tell me since you seem to have all the answers!" His voice cut through the quiet, a low and angry breath, still barely above a whisper. He heard Alfred make a sound, turned to find the him move a little, still fast asleep.

"Because you already know why. My words are not enough if you'll only refuse them."

The dog sat behind Haplo, looking at Edmund with curiosity. The Patryn stared hard the former prince. Its phantasm floated before it, acting as if the body it dragged along was just a shadow.

"Why are you even talking to me?" Haplo asked quietly. "I thought your words were for the dead."

He could've sworn that the cadaver gave a brief smile, if the thought wasn't so ludicrous. "There is a reason why that is so."

Haplo shook his head, feeling the last hook Edmund had latched on him with his words fall off. He turned, stepping on the dog's paws who gave a yelp of pain, staring at its master with its large brown eyes.

"What- Where-?" Alfred sputtered out, completely awake.

 _Great._ Haplo ignored the Sartan, scratching the dog's ears in apology. "Sorry, boy. I didn't mean it."

The timid eyes carved into his back, guessed their intent. "Are you feeling better?" Haplo's response was to laugh- a short, harsh sound. He heard Alfred sigh miserably.

Just because he was now awake didn't mean he couldn't leave. Jonathan was still asleep, and he knew the Sartan wouldn't leave the man behind. But Haplo made no move of going alone, even though he threatened the man how he would do such a thing. He stood there, showing his impatience as Alfred roused the other, his cracked lips pressed together.

Edmund remained by his post, watching them all in a knowing silence that Haplo found extremely irritating. What would a corpse know? Abarrach was overrun with them. It would be better if every one of them just walked off into the fire sea. He made his fourth trek around the area, looking for water he knew was not present, all the while flicking his gaze to Alfred who was dragging the duke to his feet.

Haplo always took advantage of the situation, making others into useful tools, all for his lord's goal. Just as he had done with Limbeck and his revolution, as he had done with the elven family on Pryan, as he had attempted to do with Kleitus. He had been dying. Alfred had offered him a way out, taking the man's pain for his own. Haplo had only done what would have been the sensible thing to do. No matter that when Alfred took the poison in him, Haplo had gripped their hands tighter, forging the circle, making it stronger, unbreakable. The man hadn't outlived his usefulness. Not yet anyway.

He waited until everyone was ready, then led them up the tunnel. He tried ignoring the feeling of déjà vu; of white robes over his bare skin, traversing his way to the top, to a world that was frightening in its very existence.


	4. Fire Sea, Part 2: Mutual

_-Mutual-_

"I won't… owe… my life…Sartan."

Haplo coughed up blackness. It stained his tongue, his teeth, dribbled down his lips. His eyes were lucid, but the man held onto that last shred of comprehension, fighting the poison that was tearing away at his body. Alfred knew that Haplo was a fighter, refusing to go quietly in the darkness. He would exhaust himself to the breaking point to stay alive, using every last vestige of strength he'd hidden away, if only to shout demands at the older Sartan, and to deny any help the other would give him.

"I can heal you!" Alfred shouted, begging the Patryn to allow him this one act. But no matter how much Haplo was clinging onto life, the age-old survival instinct he had bred and nurtured in the Labyrinth fighting against his failing lungs and his sluggish heart- his pride was far stronger.

"I…won't!"

Instead the Patryn, spasms convulsing through him, fire burning his insides, ordered Alfred to do away with his body. "Burn it! Don't…let them resurrect me!" He screeched at him with a desperation the Sartan had never heard him voice, a tiny blot of fear slowly spreading through Haplo's repeated coughs and his shaking hands.

It was hard for Alfred to forget the shuffling cadavers that made up the majority of Abarrach's population. Phantasms trailing after them like shadows, wailing in misery, their cries unheard by what little remained of the living as their mindless bodies went about their dull, repetitive routines. What made it worse was that these Sartan, remnants of a people he had once loved and missed intensely, had been bared down to what they used to be, nothing but a dark distortion, yet still much too familiar.

He imagined Haplo the same way, briefly- a plodding body, a spirit chained to the husk as all went by him, unhearing, uncaring, and it horrified him to the core. The concept that he was experiencing compassion for an enemy was no longer surprising. Abarrach was too dark and twisted. He needed to cling onto someone that was alive, no matter the origin of his birth.

He grabbed Haplo's hands, dimly remembering an old forgotten passage he had found while researching the nearly forgotten Patryns- the concept of the circle, extending into nearly ever facet of life for them, how when one was broken it was akin to death. Haplo's own was shattering.

The tattooed hands struggled against his own, trying to slip away. In frustration, he tightened his grip on the man's wrists, trying to shut out the sounds of the necromancer, Jonathan, bemoaning his dead wife, the sounds of booted feet marching down the hallways, of Haplo's dangerously quiet breathing.

His right hand in the Patryn's left, his left hand in right.  _The circle was everything_ , the writer of the passage had stated, an elven wizardess. The connection between the body and the mind, the self and the community, signifying their loyalty to their magic and to their own kind,  _but only their own kind!_

Haplo was too weak to fight back, but not weak enough to stop whispering curses at him. And though each word sent Alfred shivering ("Damn you! Damn you!") he kept his grip firm, whispering the runes to save the dying man before him. Save this man who would kill him without a thought.

He spoke to Haplo, resolutely, leaving no room to be swayed before shutting his eyes to transfer the life from his heart through Haplo's arm. There was quiet sobbing from behind him, soft words echoing his own, from the devastated Jonathan to his love that was slipping away in his arms.

"I won't let you die!"

* * *

Their journey through the magma-lit catacombs built beneath the palace was, in all honesty, a surreal experience for Alfred. None of it felt like it was happening to him specifically. The tall, gangly figure in the discomfiting dark robes was someone else entirely.

Even so, he felt this body that was no longer his being pulled along by the rest of his traveling companions. By Jonathan, who no longer walked in despair but in quiet melancholy, by the cadaver of Prince Edmund, continually in his state of indifference, and by Haplo who kept a good enough distance from everyone else. The dog was the only one that would keep near the Sartan, nudging at him occasionally with a grin, and seemingly the only one that seemed excited for this adventure.

The memory of Kleitus, murdered by the writhing image of the dead Jera, was still so very hard to banish. It mixed in with the memories of the table- the last thoughts of someone else, filled with peace, but also regret; the comforting hand of the young man that had been beside him, who had been hopeful for a better outcome. Then everything had just… ended, in screaming, in blood.

Alfred knew that the young man had been Haplo- or rather, Haplo had been the young man, dwelling in his body, reliving moments that weren't really his own. He wanted to talk about what they had experienced, hoping for a better sense of understanding just what exactly had happened, of what knowledge had been worthy enough for those Sartan to die for.

But Haplo didn't. In fact, the Patryn did all he could to avoid his presence, walking in fast pace at the head of the group. Alfred could hear the man's shortening breaths. Though the sleep had healed him for the most part, it didn't completely do away with his exhaustion. But even the drained Patryn was doing far better than Alfred, who still kept tripping over his feet until his palms were riddled with scrapes from catching himself on the rough stone. Certainly, it would be far better to just lay there, to let the horrible sights he had witnessed take over his mind until it shut down, covering him in peaceful darkness.

The thought of giving up was so very easy. It had come to him so many times in his life ever since he found himself alone. What was keeping him going? It couldn't be just basic self- preservation. He had already stopped caring for himself years ago. What was the point in all this? It would be easier to just-

_If you faint, I'll leave you here!_

But Alfred would find himself coming back up, struggling to his ungraceful feet, and keep the Patryn's back in his sight. The words had been said to him in frustration and anger, thrown in his face when Kleitus' army filled up the chamber. So the Sartan kept moving, knowing that Haplo would follow through on his threat. It was to be expected of his ancient enemy. He didn't know why it disappointed him so.

They had eventually found some long coveted water- Alfred having done so himself by falling into a puddle of it. After replicating enough of the water to slake their thirst, their mouths plagued with a muddy aftertaste, they heard sounds coming from ahead- of fast-paced footsteps and intelligible muttering. Black robes whisked around a corner, the figure continually looking over his shoulder.

"Tomas!" cried Jonathan, recognizing the man that had betrayed them into the arrows of the dead guards. He immediately ran after him before anyone could say a word. Tomas looked ahead in startling fear, then tried to run off, but fell from an apparently injured leg.

"No! Stay back! Please!" Tomas screamed in obvious horror as the duke came near, his eyes wide and unseeing, his body convulsing.

"What? Tomas! I'm not- I'm not going to hurt you." Jonathan looked on the other man in confusion. Tomas looked incredibly pitiful, the duke's anger already fading away at the sight.

The screams continued, the words degenerating into incomprehensible whimpers, coupled with bursts of high-pitched shouts. Alfred watched silently as the madness of the man made itself more known. He shook slightly, his sense of self brought back to the horror of their situation. Just what had Tomas seen to make him so…?

"Make him shut up!" Haplo demanded of the duke. His teeth were gritted, making his words coming out in a growl. "He'll bring down every guard on us!"

"I- I can't," Jonathan said, completely helpless. He tried laying his hands on Tomas to restrain his shaking, but the other would only scream even worse, backing away from him.

Without a second thought, Alfred knelt down, keeping his own hands a safe enough distance from the mad Tomas. He softly began to sing the runes, trying to create the semblance of peace, coming to him in the form of…

"Don't put him to sleep, Sartan! We need information."

Alfred turned to Haplo with a glare, feeling the very rare sense of exasperation. He was simply doing what the Patryn wanted!

"You want to carry him with us?" Haplo countered the Sartan's unspoken thought. "Or just leave him here unconscious?"

Alfred flushed quickly. That  _did_  make much more sense. So he changed his runes, forming an invisible blanket over Tomas, who had calmed down considerably with quieter murmurs. He still shook with fear however, his eyes still wide open, lost to whatever trauma he had endured from above.

The dog sniffed the man's robes with interest. Haplo reached down, touching the fabric. His hand came up stained with dark red. Startled, Alfred shoved aside the robe around the man's legs. There was no visible injury, yet it was covered in a large swath of blood- blood that was not his own.

Alfred felt himself grow cold. He only dimly heard Haplo prod Jonathan into talking with Tomas, hearing the duke in turn speak to the man in calm tones, asking him gently just what had happened.

But Tomas made very little sense, continually speaking of blood, as if the very psyche of the man was drowning in the substance. "It's in the air! I can taste it! Breathe it! I…" The words provided them no help. It simply went in circles, repeating the same imagery over and over.

Haplo, having grown tired of the man's ramblings, intervened, shoving aside the duke. "What happened? What's going on at the palace? Tell me!" There was a tinge of panic in his voice that Alfred could detect, a feeling he could fully understand.

But Tomas didn't seem to hear him, his eyes far off. "There is so much…everywhere. So many dead bodies…so many. Only one alive-" Then Tomas started to choke, his eyes widening even more.

"Damn it!" Haplo grabbed Alfred's arm. His hand was shaking, just barely. "Sartan, do something! He's having some sort of fit! I need to know-"

But it was too late. Tomas' eyes rolled back, his body suddenly very still.

Haplo felt for a pulse. His grim expression only grew darker, his brow furrowing.

"What happened? Is he-?" Jonathan asked timidly, even though it was already quite clear.

Alfred hid trembling hands within his robes. He knew that Tomas had suffered no physical injury, and yet, he looked as if he had just undergone a horrible torture.

How could they expect to do any better than he? Alfred knew he couldn't. And suddenly, he realized with such tremendous intensity of where he was, of what he was surrounded by. He never knew he could miss the war-torn isles of Arianus so much, of how preferable it would be to be stuck in a world that was full of political intrigue and warfare between the human clans and elven nations, instead of one that was rapidly being filled with the angry dead of his own people, where the environment continually tried to strip away at his very being. He needed open skies, he needed the crystal trees- but there was only rivers of magma, enclosed caverns, and poisonous air.

"I hear the voices of the dead," Edmund spoke, barely discernable in Alfred's rapidly deteriorating mind. Soon after, the dog started growling, its hackles rising. It was turned toward the corridor where Tomas had emerged from.

"Get back!" Haplo grabbed Alfred's shoulder, shoving him toward a wall, blending them into the shadows. Dark-robed figures soon appeared, moving with a cold grace, faster than the traditional cadavers of Abarrach, and much more intelligent.

"There is life down there," one of them spoke, then came its whisper, its echo, crawling out from the walls. "…life down there…"

They couldn't face this.

 _He_  couldn't face this.

"Lazar…" he breathed out softly, in regret, then slid down the wall.

"Sartan!" The Patryn was digging his fingers into his shoulder. It was painful, harsh, but Alfred was already falling.

_If you faint, I'll leave you here!_

Maybe it's for the best, he thought sadly.

* * *

Ten miles they had traveled. It was the knowledge of the distance that made things difficult, to think too long on progress, on results, on failure. So the youngest Patryn just continually ran, focusing on only a few steps at a time, on the now rather than the later.

It is never wise to stay in one area of the Labyrinth for very long. The prison, in its frightening intelligence, eventually makes changes; sending its endless supply of monsters towards those foolish enough to meet with them, commanding the ground to heave and crack, ordering the trees to enclose them in darkness. Even the Squatters move from their camping grounds in quick time, always ready, always alert to scout out new areas, to fight off those waiting in the bushes for them to relax for even the slightest moment.

The young Runner -only a child- named Haplo knew this. And so did Alfred, trapped in the boy's consciousness.

Fainting proved, once again, to be a detriment to the Sartan. All he had succeeded in was leaving one nightmarish realm for another. It was different than last time however; he was not completely trapped in Haplo's thoughts, still having some control, however little it may be, on his very own. So he was able to hear himself, slightly, and so he wondered;  _Why is this happening again?_

Alfred, in Haplo's small body, felt his lungs struggle. The young Patryn was running through the darkness, led on by two men. He didn't know their names, their heart-runes covered by their clothing. But they traversed through the forested landscape with silence, careful not to step on a twig, or catch their foot on a gnarled root. These men were experienced Runners. They even seemed older than his parents. He instinctively thought back to them, his parents torn apart, their screams still ringing in his head-

Alfred caught himself.  _Not…not my parents. Not mine._

Even so, tears came to his eyes, blurring his vision. His bare feet slipped on wet grass, making him fall to his side. A sharp cry burst from his throat.

Instantly, one of the Runners rushed back to him, grabbing him by the hair. He pulled the boy up, moving close to his face.

"Quiet! Haven't you learned?"

Haplo swallowed back a gasp. The man's face was riddled with scars, his eyes completely dark, making it seem like holes were cut into his face. The boy nodded silently.

Apparently satisfied, the man dropped him. Haplo landed on the balls of his feet, careful not to fall again.

"We are almost to the camp. Keep close."

Alfred, recalling a horrible scene, and noticing their surroundings, surmised what had happened. This was another memory of Haplo's obviously, perhaps one taken right after the demise of his parents. The men must have been the same ones from before, coming upon the boy in his agony, discovering torn bodies and blood all over the dirt floor. They were keeping near Haplo's side, urging him to move faster, but to also watch his step, to forever stay alert. Haplo took quick, even breaths, but Alfred could feel the boy's exhaustion- could feel his own.

 _I don't understand. Just why am I here again?_  Did the shock of the lazar do this to him? Or maybe it was the hopelessness, the despair, constantly running through his blood. He couldn't recall any other feeling. He felt the undercurrent of such emotions in his chest. He wasn't sure whether it came from Haplo or himself. Perhaps it didn't make much of a difference… _What is wrong with me?_

Haplo was slowing down. The men were running too fast, their stamina seemingly endless. They must have been running for hours. Pinpointing time in the Labyrinth was difficult- for the days are constantly dark, and whatever light that would plow through the tree branches above were so faint that it was hard to tell when it was morning. Still, Haplo figured it must be near the middle of the night- the air was more frigid, more lonely.

He gasped for air, his sprint slowing down to an easy jog. "Can't we…stop…a little?"

The men halted in their run. It was so sudden that it brought the boy up short. He tried to control his heavy breathing, but his lungs burned intensely. Alfred marveled at how Haplo, even as a child, could have gone on for so long. But the Labyrinth makes no exceptions for anyone, especially for the weak, for the hopeful. Alfred, knowing his own non-existent strength, would have been torn up and devoured long ago.

Haplo had his hands on his knees, staring at the ground, at his feet covered in mud and grime.

"We will leave you here."

He shot his head up, staring.

Alfred stood there, with Haplo, in shock. The callousness of the other man's words, his tone so cold. How could anyone just think of letting a child…?

But this train of thought left his head, pushed in by Haplo's own, who knew exactly why.

"I'm not… weak," he countered. He swallowed back more air, chest heaving.

Images of pain, of suffering, of creatures lurking in the shadows- they lay within all of the Patryns words. Alfred, exhausted with Haplo, was bombarded with them, his mind submerged. He knew that this was the norm for them, for these two men and for the child. Anything soft or kind was quickly extinguished, if it had ever been born at all. Brief, fleeting visions of bodies falling to the ground, an unimaginable amount of blood flowing, surrounded the Sartan and the child. A horrible reminder the adults gave, but not out of cruelty.

"The camp lies only a few miles away." Alfred couldn't tell which man had spoken- it was getting so dark. "The area here is too open.  _They_ are not far behind."

Whether the man was talking about snogs, tiger-men, wolfen, or any other horrible monster didn't matter. Haplo knew it was dangerous to remain here. Already his runes were giving off a faint glow, his magic responding to danger that wasn't too far away. In the Labyrinth, it never was.

Alfred honestly wanted to sink to the ground and just fall asleep. He knew he would do just that in Haplo's place. It would certainly be easier than to keep going, when knowing the future would be filled with nothing but pain. How could anyone keep fighting like this?

"Do you wish to stay then?" A shrug, casual. "Is that what you choose?"

Haplo was shaking, his fists clenched. Alfred felt the remorse, the self-degradation and- all of a sudden, the intense and horrible loneliness. It was too much for a child, and it reminded Alfred so much of his own past regrets, his own desires to just stay behind. Because he knew, just then, what dark thought Haplo had briefly entertained in his head, the true reason as to why he stopped, quickly scuttling away before it could bloom. There was the silent urge to just lie on the grass and wait for death, to let whatever terrors in the dark take him away, his only hope being that it would not last so horrifically long. The men has seen it, had known.

Haplo was only seven. It made Alfred feel guilty about his own childhood, about his own life, about everything that he was.

_And it is because of us that he…_

"No," Haplo said, his voice subdued. He had been holding back his tears. "I will go with you."

The men nodded, expecting nothing else from a Patryn. They knew then that this young boy would be strong.

The journey through the Labyrinth lasted for what seemed like an eternity to Alfred. Vicious growls were uttered from the trees, grass rustled behind the running Patryns. But eventually, these sounds lessened, giving some semblance of peace. That was when Haplo came upon the Squatters camp.

It was a small site, having less than a dozen huts. A few Patryns guarded its perimeter, runes etched into the hard ground, working as some kind of wall that would -at the very least- slow down any attackers. Haplo, his body wracked with hunger, barely paid attention when they arrived. Alfred could hardly see through the boy's eyes, his vision darkening from exhaustion and terror. There were the sounds of talking, the men conversing with the headman about the child and his circumstances.

A hand touched Haplo's head, startling the boy. He looked up, seeing a woman with wrinkles just barely touching her face. She was smoothing out the stray twigs and leaves that caught onto his hair, a motherly gesture. There were several children surrounding her, all of them solemn-faced and quiet. Alfred noted how the woman didn't smile.

Food was given, all of it barely remembered as Haplo instantly devoured what was set before him. The men were nowhere to be seen, most likely resting somewhere else within the camp to later resume their trek through the prison. Alfred, though, was concerned about young Haplo. Ever since they arrived here, he hadn't felt… much of the Patryn's thoughts, as if all of it had been pushed down, covered over with stone. It was relieving in one way, but highly discomforting in another. It was like the boy was completely empty.

Haplo went to bed immediately after eating, led to one of the larger huts by the Patryn woman. Several folded sheets were on the ground, all of them small. Obviously the place where the children were kept. After covering him in thin blankets, the woman left, leaving the boy in darkness.

Haplo curled up in the bed, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing. For a long time, the boy remained still, laying awake, listening to the sounds of the outside; of the bonfire crackling, of voices talking with each other in hard, quick tones of the Patryn language, of the silent hum of magic surrounding the campsite, protecting it as best as it could.

Slowly, very slowly, Alfred felt thoughts bubble into his mind, in Haplo's mind. Faint and weak, it grew, encompassing both Sartan and Patryn. It was like a chasm- its shadows impenetrable, its very existence much too powerful.

Haplo placed a small hand over his chest, his heart, at the rune where everything began. The one his mother had tattooed on his chest when he had been just a baby. There was the brief image of the woman patting his head, bringing with it the memory of his mother who would do such a thing just before he would sleep. It had been one of the few gentle actions she had done in life.

There had been the screaming, tearing, killing. Body parts had been scattered all over the ground. Haplo remembered seeing his mother's hand when the men had dragged him closer. It had been torn away from her wrist, some of the fingers missing, looking partially eaten.

Alfred, overwhelmed by the sight, understood. Haplo, and perhaps all the other Patryns, would believe what his parents had done was out of instinct, a necessity for their young to survive and finally escape the violent land of their birth. Yet Haplo remembered his mother, brought on by a touch that was only meant to be practical, not reassuring. There was an ache inside him, moving from his chest to his throat, tears threatening to leave him once again. But the child could no longer hold himself together, and so he began to sob quietly, feeling an intense love shatter his mind, restricting his breaths, overriding the intrinsic hatred that all Patryns bore for those who left them there to die. He dug his nails into his chest, marking them against the heart-rune.

Alfred, drowning in the boy's loneliness, was reminded of his own parents. They had always been kind and soft- a luxury that Patryns could not afford. Both died when he was still very young, brought down by the unseen sickness. Alfred had felt the same thing, missing and loving his parents tremendously, experiencing such loneliness for that brief time. Then he had woken up all those centuries later, to friends, to his love, all dead. His isolation had become a part of his being, impossible to separate.

Haplo, trying his best to quiet his sobs, traced the rune on his chest. Single, alone- as he would always be. Alfred, feeling pity for the boy and, with self-deprecation, for himself, instantly wished that wasn't so. There was the fleeting idea -such a silly, stupid idea- of embracing the Patryn, the sudden need to not let such a lonely life take over the child's path. But then he remembered; he was restricted, he was useless. The boy's sobs quieted down, leaving unseen traces of it in the air.  _All because of what we Sartan did,_  he thought in despair.  _All because of us. Because of…_

A sharp whistle blew through his head, sounding vaguely familiar. Before he could dwell on it, pain snapped open his eyes, wrenching his mind away from the thick quiet of the camp, the child's sobbing growing faint.

He felt dizzy all of a sudden, seeing through a haze of dark red. A headache sprouted inside his skull, enclosing his brain in a vice.

"Sartan! Move it!"

Perhaps it was the desperate tone in the words, or the sudden sight of the carnage that laid before him, consisting of viciously massacred lazar, or even the feel of Jonathan's shaking arms around his shoulders. But Alfred had found the strength to move forward, following the Patryn through the corridors, through pathways clogged with murdered Sartan, the dead already delivering their genocide onto the living.

The image of a young boy eventually faded from his mind, a remnant of a dream that lasted hours, when only a few moments had passed in reality. All this suffering, all this death, all because of the Sartan. Alfred understood Haplo's disgust with his people, his contempt, his deep hatred for them.

Which only made him wonder: why did he stay behind?

* * *

Hope was a very strange thing. After running through dead streets, after traversing across the fire sea, after riding on the back of a lava dragon of all things, it should've died, put out by all the sights he had seen. But then they had arrived on the shore, and Alfred felt it grow, realizing it had always been there, just barely lighting up the darkness. He held onto it as he lifted Haplo and the dog with his magic onto Dragon Wing- daring to believe that survival was not an impossibility.

Haplo, crouched on the deck of the dragonship, hands on the steering stone, willed his ship to move. The dragon wings unfurled, the runes blazed, heading upwards. Almost immediately they halted, nearly sending both him and the Sartan tumbling.

Alfred looked out the porthole. A crowd of furious lazar stood outside, hungry for the ship, for the ones inside it. The Sartan could hear them chanting, weaving their magic to hold the vessel to their world.

So much for hope.

 _I should stay_ , he thought, thinking about Jonathan, how he had died against the lazar. The duke had been strong in his faith…in what? In a higher power? Alfred didn't understand- was too afraid to understand.

He knew he could help Haplo and himself escape- a spell coming to his mind, unbidden, but not entirely unwanted. He looked out to see Jonathan rise up from the ground, his visage shifting, staring straight at him.

The hum of the magic moved through him. He turned back, finding the Patryn's head bowed, barely able to keep himself conscious. His fingers were pressed against the engraved runes, cutting through flesh.

With an odd sense of tranquility, Alfred went over to Haplo, laying his hands on his shoulders. He chanted softly, pronouncing the runes meticulously. The circle was forged between them once again, and this time, the Patryn didn't pull away.

The ship shuddered, the wooden boards creaked. A cacophony of angry hisses filled the air, barely intelligible. But the dragonship soon broke free from the lazar's hold, until it was sailing smoothly through the air, already on a set course for Death's Gate.

Alfred didn't open his eyes. Though he no longer spoke the runes, their magic stayed within him, their syllables remained on his tongue. He slowly let go of it, reluctant, as he would often do when he was a child, until all he knew was the quiet of the cabin.

Too…quiet.

He snapped open his eyes, looking at the back of Haplo's head. The Patryn wasn't moving an inch. He couldn't even hear the other man's breathing. Before he could even check, Haplo's hands already slipped from the steering stone, then proceeded to fall to the floor.

The Sartan caught the man before he could fully collapse, arms encircling him gently. He remained still, kneeling. "Haplo?"

The Patryn didn't answer. Alfred felt the other's chest rise and fall beneath his hands. At least he knew Haplo was still alive. Did he just pass out?

"Need sleep…" the Patryn finally said, startling Alfred. The words came out forced, as if it took an extreme effort for him to just talk. "I just need…my sleep…"

Oh. Well, of course. Alfred knew how vital the healing sleep was for the Patryns. Blood was trickling onto the floor, the source being the arrow wound in Haplo's leg. But where exactly could the man sleep? Looking around the deck, he didn't see a bed readily available. There was a chair placed near the steering stone, upright and rigid. It didn't look entirely comfortable, and he didn't feel so good about just letting Haplo lay on the hard ground. So, feeling helpless once again, he just knelt there, holding the Patryn. The ship being so quiet as it was, it wasn't long before the Sartan felt incredibly awkward in his position.

Yet, it was only after a considerable amount of time in his arms that Haplo finally began to struggle. Alfred, to his surprise, didn't let go.

"Sartan…" Rough, annoyed.

"At least let me help you," Alfred said nervously, a bit unsure why he was being stubborn with this. "You can barely stand on your own."

"So…sitting here on the floor as I bleed out…is a better alternative?"

Alfred flushed. "That- That's not what I-"

Haplo gave a sigh, his aggravation clear. He tried to break free again, but gave up soon after, as if he no longer cared by this point. "There's a pallet in one of the… compartments… Get one for me to lay down if you're so…" Haplo shook his head, too exhausted to continue.

Alfred nodded, determined to do what the Patryn asked, but still having an unimaginable time just letting him go. Eventually, he was able to lean Haplo against the steering stone's pedestal, cringing as the man hissed in sudden pain.

Though already knowing the outcome, he presented an offer. "I could heal you-"

"No." Haplo kept his face turned away. "You won't."

The Sartan was beginning to feel miserable again.

Once on his feet, after numerous attempts of his body simply crumpling every time he tried to lift a knee, he walked toward the compartments situated in the deck. After grabbing a large pallet in his hands with some difficulty, he nearly fell forward again, a furry body suddenly appearing in his way.

The dog. He had almost forgotten about it.

Dark eyes looked straight up at him, a bushy tail wagging slowly. It nudged its nose against his robes- he still hadn't got rid of the necromancer attire in all the horror of his travels- and gave a soft whine.

He knew what the dog was- or, at least, he thought he did. It continually pushed against his leg, asking for help. It certainly meant it for its master. Or for itself?

"Must you really take your time with this?" Haplo's voice cut through him, nearly making him drop the pallet. His tone was quiet however, his face colored grey.

Once the Sartan got the pallet set up in his own special way, disheveled and slightly crooked, he reached out his hands to help the Patryn move. Haplo responded by swatting the hands aside roughly.

"Stay back."

The man's eyes were barely open. He was having trouble just trying to stay conscious. Even so, he pulled himself up to his feet, using the pedestal as leverage. His arms were shaking.

Alfred remained nearby, his voice meek. "Can't I just-?"

The Patryn glared at him, but there was something wrong…different. His eyes seemed unfocused, looking past Alfred's shoulder instead of the man himself.

"I don't…need you…" He coughed violently, making a lunge for the pallet on the ground. He nearly hit his head on the wooden floorboards. The Sartan crouched, cradling the Patryn, extremely worried.

Haplo continued talking, his words slurred, incomprehensible. Just what was happening? Alfred thought the man didn't look so much tired, and more like he was…stuck somewhere, trudging through molasses. For a horrible moment, he believed that maybe the last vestiges of the poison remained in the Patryn's system, and was now attacking him on the inside once more.

"Haplo, please! Just let me help!" He made a frantic grab for the man's hands, ready to forge the circle between them anew. The sudden thought of the Patryn dying chilled his blood. No, he didn't want his ancient enemy to die, this man who had gone through so much suffering, who had seen his parents killed when he was just a child…

Haplo slumped forward, his head hitting against Alfred's chest. His breathing suddenly became even, normal.

The Sartan froze, just lightly grasping Haplo's wrists. He thought the Patryn had fallen asleep. Except, the man kept shifting, kept whispering.

Haplo leaned back, his body sluggish, dragging out his movements with incredible slowness. It was like they were going through Death's Gate again, their bodies, their words, their thoughts lasting forever, before suddenly going in heart-stopping quickness the very next moment. Alfred remained quiet, unsure on just what exactly was happening.

Haplo's eyes were faded, stuck in another place. It was the same man back on Arianus, stuck in Alfred's spell, looking undone and open and not at all like himself. The Sartan immediately had the feeling -or warning- that he should back away. But he remained where he was, his body once again refusing to obey his mind's commands. And that was when Haplo leaned forward.

_This is not meant for me._

Something private, something rare. Alfred was in the wrong place, at the worst possible time. But he didn't move, feeling a warmth in his chest, a familiarity that he had believed had left him long ago, discovering his love's dead form. It burst through him, warming his blood, but left a trail of discord inside him, because this was something that should not be happening.

 _I don't move events. Events move me._ It was certainly true of him- always pushed or pulled along by other's actions. He had no control over anything, not even his own memories, only to be engulfed by someone else's. His body, refusing to take him away- to  _do something_  besides just sitting there, letting Haplo show such an odd affection that was chaste and light but still very…

And even though he did feel hesitance at this moment, making a wall of his own volition, he already felt it crumbling, reduced to dust. Perhaps if Haplo had done it for him, given him the usual shove or that tone of contempt- but there was none of that, and so it just happened and continued, as simple as that.

Alfred stayed frozen, listening to the creaking of the ship's wings, the cables hitting against the hull. He thought he could also hear the sharp claws of the dog click against the floor, slowly pacing around the room. He could imagine it staring at them both, with that same quizzical expression, wondering just what strange action they were doing. The animal had showed aggressive protection toward its master before when the Sartan had been near him- why was it suddenly okay for Alfred to be- well, like this with Haplo?

Suddenly, Alfred realized he needed to breathe. He shifted, feeling Haplo's hands gripping his arms.  _When had that even happened?_  But not even his body could forego a basic function such as needing air. So he was able move his head back, reflexively laying hand against his mouth once it was freed.

"Haplo, what were you-?" He stopped.

The Patryn's hands fell limp. He blinked, focus coming back to his eyes. He looked to the Sartan in bewilderment, wondering just why he was there. It took a moment for the man to readjust, as if he had been somewhere else. Alfred suddenly felt terrified- and doubly so when Haplo's eyes narrowed in dark, thick anger.

"…What did you do to me?"

Alfred gaped. Confusion settled in his mind like a much too familiar guest.

"I don't…I don't know what you mean, I didn't-"

" _Don't lie to me!"_

The Sartan flinched, meek eyes wide in fright.

Haplo swiftly wiped his mouth against his arm, looking disgusted, unnerved. He continued glaring at Alfred with undisguised hatred.

"Another of your tricks…your spells…" Haplo uttered. "To make me do that…"

"N-no!" Alfred denied immediately. "It wasn't me! You were the one who-!"

The tattoos on Haplo's arms suddenly glowed a threatening red, highlighting the shadows on his face. The Sartan stared, completely immobile. That's it. This time for certain, he was going to die.

There was a soft whimper- the dog, ignored throughout the strange event, padded up to its master. It prodded the Patryn's arm with its wet nose, its whining growing louder.

And just as quickly, the ink became dark again. The rune-magic that had hummed through the air dissipated. Haplo turned away.

Alfred remained seated on the floor, guilt washing over him. He was now sure that this was somehow his fault, even though he couldn't figure out how just yet. He bowed his head, wishing to fix it.

"I- I didn't…" His words failed him, and so did his courage- whatever little there was. "I'm sorry."

The Patryn crawled over to the pallet. His body shuddered as he moved his leg. "Just keep away from me."

Hours might have passed between the interim of the incident and their arrival at Death's Gate. Or perhaps not. Alfred wasn't too sure. He had settled in a corner of the ship's cabin, unable to take his eyes off the Patryn who was now laid on the pallet, the dog's head resting on his chest. Though the man's eyes were closed, he knew he wasn't asleep. That maybe he couldn't sleep after what had occurred. Alfred couldn't do so himself. Both were wrapped in a thick, awkward silence- the tension between them looking ready to snap.

So it was fortunate when they neared Death's Gate, as Alfred began to feel the waves of unconsciousness fall over his mind. He was sure the Patryn didn't want a repeat of what happened the last time they had gone through the gate together- making the mistake of staying awake, of exchanging souls. But what about after they made it through? He was certain that Haplo would go to the Nexus to speak with his Lord- and hand over Alfred to him as well.

The Sartan hugged his knees to his chest, rested his head on top of them, and closed his eyes. It was only a matter of time. Just more proof that he never should've tried to get involved…

"Sartan. You awake?"

Alfred remained still, a little shocked that the Patryn deigned to speak with him. He said nothing however, apprehensive.

Later, said with obvious distaste, "Alfred."

He clenched his hands nervously. "Yes, I'm awake."

"You know what will happen when we reach the Nexus," Haplo stated, his voice still rather weak. "And what my lord will do to you."

"I know," Alfred said tremulously. He couldn't be bothered to even attempt to hide his fear.

Silence followed, and the Sartan was sure the conversation was at an end. But then Haplo cut through again, wishing to get the words out of his mouth as fast as possible.

"Then, if I were you, Sartan, I wouldn't be around when I woke up."

Alfred raised his head. The Patryn kept his face averted, staring at the ceiling as he unconsciously scratched the dog's ears. Alfred tried to picture this same man that offered him a chance to freedom with the one who had been raging at him not so long before, runes lighting up his body with a sinister red.

It was a rare, slightly frightening experience to witness such facets to Haplo's being- to witness it and live.

"I understand," Alfred said, making clear his gratitude. "Thank you."

The Patryn said nothing back but closed his eyes, his face as implacable as it always was. It was hard to believe that such a face could become so different, as something gentle and sincere, as Alfred had seen just before, as well as back on Arianus.

When he finally made it outside the ship hours later, gripping the rails so tightly as he stared at the darkness of Death's Gate- something else came to mind. Having been so shocked at what had happened between them, so filled with both fear and warmth colliding inside his chest, he hadn't realized what he had seen. Besides the unfocused eyes, the strange gentleness he had exhibited- Alfred remembered how back on Arianus, Haplo had smiled. A genuine, happy smile, brought on by memories hidden away, of having found something, free of worries like a child- if the Patryn had ever been worry-free as a child…

It was the same smile had had seen just before, just now. Except this time, it was preceded by words, by phrases barely heard, but more pronounced, concrete. The Patryn hadn't mumbled, but breathed into them, giving them form and substance.

Alfred couldn't remember what they were, and thought, perhaps, it was best that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this chapter could be considered the turning point for these two? Something like that?
> 
> Attempting to finish chapter 5 as soon as possible. :)


	5. Serpent Mage: Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where Alfred gets all the girls (and guy)! Well, basically, in a way. You'll see.
> 
> Apologies for this long chapter. I'd suggest grabbing a snack.

"My name…is Alfred."

Samah frowned; a mar on perfection, a tatter in a dream.

"That is not a Sartan name."

"No…it's not."

He knew that none of this -any of it- should have been so agonizing. Finding his own people, after years of loneliness, should have made him happy. And he was! …At least…he thought he was. It was obviously a far better welcome than Abarrach, where the once powerful Sartan had become unrecognizable. But this man before him, resplendent in his long robes, his face stern and formal- in his words, Alfred could hear life and light, a language that he had thought he would never have the chance to listen to again. Then why was he so…?

"I am head of the Council of Seven," spoke Samah. Alfred gaped, recognizing, wishing he didn't. "And as head, I have the right to ask you questions, not out of simple curiosity, but out of necessity."

"Of- of course," Alfred bobbed his head, trying to swat away the cold feeling in his chest. The Council of Seven, the Sundering- all of that he remembered from the old Sartan books, the kind that he had read as a child learning his people's ancient history. And if what Samah said was true, which Alfred really hoped it wasn't- but a Sartan couldn't lie and Alfred was then appalled at how he had wanted this man to _lie…!_

"And yet," Samah continued patiently, like a long-suffering father. "You will not give us something so basic."

The mausoleum Alfred was standing in, high-arching white, with rows of blue crystal coffins, was a familiar sight, identical to the underground chamber in Arianus. It was no surprise that he took this place for home, that he came to the conclusion that he never should have left it at all. And yes, certainly he should have thought it over on just why the people in those coffins were not his friends, that the woman in Lya's place was not Lya at all, and that his coffin was already occupied. But he had hoped- as he always secretly did, the one thing that had kept him alive. Because they had been breathing, these people in their soft, white robes, their pale hair- these people who were now gathered around Alfred in his tattered mensch clothes, his hunched shoulders.

They looked at him in confusion, because what Sartan carries himself like this, meek and afraid? This is not how a demigod should act at all.

"I'm sorry," he said to them all, meaning it completely. His whole existence was wrong, even among his own, and only later did he realize how strange that was.

Samah's frown grew deeper, a cloud passing over the sun. But there was something else in his expression that made Alfred cringe. He had the sudden urge to escape from it, and so looked over to the woman standing by Samah's side, the one he had mistook for Lya at first. Her hair was a polished white, her face matured with a line down the center of her forehead, matching Alfred's years. She was unlike Lya, who had been a young girl when she went to sleep, escaping the burdening responsibilities of the world with her love. No, this woman had already borne so much weight, had already seen so much, and sleep had done little to lift it.

"Brother, where are the rest of our brethren?" Samah's voice came out at him, unwelcome, erasing the woman's face with past memories.

_They are still in their tombs back home, they are living within dark caves in terror, they are murdering every living thing in their path. All that we were before is gone. Only civil war and death and emptiness remains._

"I am… alone," Alfred finally said, knowing the other Sartan could see just what he meant. But the images his words brought were jumbled, distorted. Their looks of confusion turned to fear.

"I apologize, but I am afraid I don't understand you." Samah kept his voice even, diplomatic. His words brought clear waters washing over Alfred's head. "Has something happened?"

The question very nearly made Alfred laugh bitterly. Of course something has happened! It was every possible thing that could go wrong, every fear his people had dreamed up, every nightmare that was sure to follow him for the rest of his life! There was no single answer to the question, that he had no hope of even trying to answer.

He swallowed back his voice, mortified that the thought of laughing in this man's face even crossed his mind…

"Yes," he said simply, his voice quiet. "Something has happened."

And suddenly, he wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to be standing here. He didn't want his own people looking at him like this. Especially the Sartan woman, whose eyes were disquietingly familiar.

"Then tell us, Brother," Samah asked again. His patient tone was wearing off, his frown creating deep lines in his face. Alfred noted how he didn't call him by the mensch name he had given, hearing the unspoken question there. It was on the tip of his tongue, because what he wouldn't give to just tell his own people this one simple thing. And if this was Samah, then yes, it should definitely be required of him to give it! Except, his name has never been that easy to say aloud, especially now.

He half-expected for the man to draw it out of him. It was inevitable. Alfred was too weak to stop it, because it had already been done before, hadn't it? Even if  _he_  didn't realize it, even though he allowed the Sartan to jump ship to escape-

His mind suddenly went very, very still.

"I… I'm not on Arianus, am I?" he whispered, thinking back to his dear friends, to floating isles, to crystal trees.

"Of course not. What would make you think that? You are on the world of Chelestra." Samah's tone was slightly harsh, a brief gust of wind that would tear away at only the weakest of dying leaves.

As it tore away at Alfred as he fainted to the floor.

* * *

The young Sartan boy, one of many in Arianus, never liked introducing himself.

"H- hello," he uttered, consciously saying it louder than he usually would. He was looking down, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. But at least his voice didn't break this time, which he couldn't help but be a little proud of.

He was standing just outside one of the tall, white spires of the High Realms, its surface near the base blazing with runes. He recognized each sigil easily, all of them placed next to each other in a single line. It was a command, gentle but firm in its superiority, for the elements to veer away from this building, to not sand down the surface, to let the runes continually shine on the sculpted coralite. But it was not complete yet- the last remaining runes being traced into the wall by the girl he was introducing himself to.

It was not the first time he had seen her, technically. It was back on the Low Realms with the dwarves, as she was trailing behind another group of Sartan, obviously her own parents. Her family were part of those Sartan, more technical in their nature than the rest, working on the great machine, outlining instructions to the dwarves for its maintenance. At the age of fourteen, he had been brought down to Drevlin by his father to see it in person, his last visit having been when he was much younger. Though he was taken aback by its immense size, its shining surfaces, and its innumerable metal arms that clawed away at the hard coralite of the isles, (even if the loud sounds had hurt his ears) he was more impressed by the young girl that had just passed his sight, smaller than the rest, seeming to glide across the floor. He remembered how her hood had been pulled low over her face, leaving only a few stray locks of white hair, a bit tangled and unkempt, to escape its confines.

What struck at him though, besides her hidden face, was when he overheard some elder Sartan talk with her, his robes trimmed a bit differently than the rest, obviously a person of high standing. Her parents had stood by, conversing with him pleasantly. But when he had directed a question to the girl, she didn't respond. She didn't even seem to notice him. Her eyes were locked to a cluster of cogs embedded in the walls, her attention given over to a part of the great machine that was continually grinding away.

One of the parents, he could no longer remember, had swiftly reprimanded her. "Don't be rude!" Which was a phrase nearly unheard of. Sartan were well-mannered, well-behaved, a necessity for the demigods of Arianus. While there were always strange ones here or there, such as Coren with his shyness, or his friend, Ivor with his recklessness, (among other things), they were still few and far in between. Still, it was a discovery for him. Especially when all she did was look back to the man, nodding, without even a whisper of an apology.

He had went back to the High Realms before he could get a chance to speak with her, not that he believed he even could. He was more introverted than most Sartan, an oddity his parents didn't really understand, though it didn't diminish their love for him any less. Besides, she was living in the underground chambers of Drevlin, while he in the airy heights with the human mages they were caring for. But then, suddenly, he found her by the spire, finishing off the basic spells the adults had started. He had seen others, some passing by, some doing their own work on the spire before leaving, try to talk with her. None of them had succeeded. Why did he think he could do any different?

She turned at the sound of his voice, the sigil she was tracing just half-done. He couldn't see her eyes.

His nervousness suddenly increased. She was shorter than him by two inches or so, her face tilted slightly downwards. It was hard to tell if she was looking at him- or at something else past his shoulder.

Well, there was no backing out now. He wished she would say something in return though.

"My name is… is Coren," he finally blurted out, a weight lifted from his chest. There was the age-old embarrassment whenever he said his name aloud- the name that so many other boys had, that was given out of expectation.

He waited for her to speak. And waited. He started to fidget with his sleeves. The silence was loud in his ears.

He risked a quick glance upwards, finding her still staring at him. Or through him.

This was such a mistake. He suddenly wanted to get away and had to restrain himself from whispering the runes of teleportation. She was most likely busy with her task and didn't appreciate his interruption, because he knew the instant that he spoke his images were made so very clear.

Soft hands grasped his own. He blinked, the girl standing right in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her tone moving effortlessly. "I get very… distracted." At this, she smiled with a little embarrassment.

The Sartan were a close people, sharing their thoughts with one another by instinct. But expressing such physical touch was usually reserved between close friends and family. The polite thing for him to do would be to respectfully slide out of her grasp, murmuring his apologies. Instead, he held onto her fingers, his heart stuck in his throat.

"Oh, it's, um… it's okay!" he finally answered.

Bright images came forth from his words- of the girl when she was in Drevlin, of his sudden need to find her. And while Coren would never dream of hiding his thoughts, he wished that he could temper down his infatuation, that he could brush away the feeling of warmth he got when she took hold of his hands. Except he knew it was as plain as day.

"I just saw that you were new here, and, well, I wanted to see if you needed any help with… something." He had never been that talkative, but he couldn't recall the last time he had been so tongue-tied. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

The girl herself gave a smile, nervous in her own way. She then finally released his hands as if aware of what she had been doing.

"This is my first time up in the High Realms. My mother said the fresh air would do me some good." She shrugged, her body moving shyly, which was a strange contrast to the clearness of her voice. "It's a bit too quiet though."

At her words, he saw the great machine again, continually clanking away. He saw the dwarves scurrying around, pulling levers and twisting metal cogs. The noise was intense, hammering away at his head, but he saw her standing before it, a small thing against such a beast, impossible to take it all in one view. She was perfectly still, the hard clanging just a background noise to her. He noted that she was the only white-robed Sartan there, among the dwarves and their never-sleeping charge.

She knew what he saw and smiled again, a bit more sadder this time. "I was around it too much. Strange, I know."

He remembered sitting at the library, a large tome in his hands, his father's voice snapping him out of a reverie (Coren, you're still here?), the hollow feeling he would get when he left the bookshelves.

"I don't think that's strange at all," he said without thinking, because it reminded him- of getting lost within words, within the magic that hummed through the air.

The girl stared, not expecting that. Her eyes were mostly hidden by the white cowl. He wanted to ask her why she wore it so low over her face, but figured it must be because of the brightness of Solarus. He remembered how Drevlin was continually assaulted by thunderstorms, its skies there always dark with clouds.

"Are you…" He coughed, suddenly aware of the weight of his body, the warmth in his head. He started over. "Are you going to be living here from now on then?"

The girl shook her head. "Only for a couple of months, then I am to go back to the Low Realms to continue work on the machine."

Coren couldn't keep out the disappointment from his words. "Oh…"

"Still… I haven't seen much here yet. I only have my older brother and he's always too busy to show me around."

He heard the unspoken offer, and grasped at it immediately, his thoughts bursting a little chaotically.

"T- Then would you like to go somewhere?" he asked. He had no clear destination; there was the grand library which he was usually at a majority of the time, or the lake that he once came across in his wanderings.

She smiled widely, nodding. "Sure. But I should probably finish this first." She gestured toward the newly traced runes. "It shouldn't be long."

"Oh! Yes, of course."

He breathed evenly, putting his thoughts back in order. Silently, he watched her finish up the rune patterns- just two more characters were needed to complete the spell. She was humming softly, her voice gently moving through his head. It was a clear note, clearer than most Sartan. He supposed it was that way because she was continually around such loud noises, and increased the volume of her magic accordingly, now becoming reflex.

Her hand finally left the wall, the rune emitting a soft blue. He hadn't noticed the large satchel lying at her feet until she bent to retrieve it. It was certainly… not of Sartan-make. He recalled one of the dwarves carrying such a thing around, quickly rushing over to a machine part.

Ashe she picked it up, the tinkling of metal hitting against each other reached his ears. She rushed over to his side, and saw how his eyes traveled to the object.

"I… brought some of my work from home. My family doesn't know." She looked guilty, as if she had just entered someone's dwelling without permission and had been discovered. "Promise not to tell?"

It wasn't like Sartan to keep secrets from one another- but there was something thrilling about it. And Coren couldn't help but feel a little flattered that she was asking him for this. It was a nice feeling; having already this level of trust from this girl.

"Okay," he said, nodding in agreement.

He felt his fingers wrap around softness and realized then how his hand had somehow met with her own without his knowledge. Had he reached out to her, or vice-versa? He didn't mind it though- he really didn't. And with the way she smiled at him, it seemed she didn't either. He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to take his mind off the rapid beating of his heart.

Then he remembered something, instantly feeling like a fool. "Sorry, I forgot to ask you your name." He had the urge to pull his own hood over his face.

She turned to him, her eyes peeking out, showing him a dark shade of green. When she spoke, her voice instantly got lower, as if what she said was meant for his ears only, as if what she said was another precious secret between them both.

"My name is Lya."

* * *

Alfred sat inside a room -a bedroom to be exact- the walls made of cut marble, with high, oval-shaped windows to his right. The bed he sat on was soft, the furniture surrounding him; a small reading table circled by plush chairs, a dresser to the side, was arranged perfectly and out of the way. His feet rested against a floor covered with a soft carpet, simple in its design, so unlike the lush extravagant ones back in the castle of King Stephen, their colors blinding. And resting right next to his feet, curled up in a small ball, was the black dog of Haplo.

It had been three days since Alfred had become a prisoner of the Sartan of Chelestra.

Throughout his incarceration, he hadn't really done much of anything besides rethinking events and mindlessly petting the dog. He eventually came to the conclusion that, no matter what, he always managed to upset everything he ever came across. A truth that was, sadly, not new to him at all.

The Sartan had not been pleased with the sorry excuse for a demigod. His reveal that their once carefully constructed plans of order were, in reality, on its last legs and consumed with rust, had made them frightened, and made Samah suspicious. He couldn't even manage to hide away, or blend in with the people he had missed for so long. It was all so painfully apparent when he remembered how, in his early days in Surunan, he had run into a table that had been off to the side, no where near the path he and Orla, had been taking through the house. He remembered how she had gasped as he stumbled to his knees, the heavy wooden table falling to its side with a loud clatter.

He had looked at his disobeying feet in eternal misery. "I'm so terribly sorry…"

But she had brushed away his apologies, helping him stand, handling his gangly body with skill. "Alfred, you are suffering. Your mind and body can't even cooperate with each other. If only you would share your burdens with us."

So he had told her everything, at least most of it. Waking up to nothing, living out a lie, his thoughts of ending it all, the despair leaving trails inside his head. He had told her and only her, because unlike the other Sartan, there was something in her eyes that he recognized ever since he saw her in the mausoleum, standing by Samah. A familiar, saddening thing, an edge of loneliness despite being surrounded by others. He felt connected to her, even though, somehow, he still could not tell her his real name.

Her eyes were a lovely dark shade of green.

It wasn't the city, the people, or the culture that was nothing but an archaic past back in his world. Any happiness he felt, any understanding that was shared, all of it was because of her. She had been the one to kneel down beside him from his fainting spell, holding his hand. She had been lying in Lya's coffin- the coffin that was never really Lya's in the first place. But it brought back old feelings either way, and it was then he realized that he was falling in love with her.

The dog raised its head, as if knowing where Alfred's thoughts were leading to. Having his own suspicions about the animal, it probably did.

"Why couldn't I have just been happy?" he said out loud. He was staring at his hands; large, knobby, and creased with wrinkles. Clumsy and useless. No matter that these hands, as well as the rest of his limbs, became graceful during his magic spells. They still broke everything they touched, so incapable of doing anything right _._ "I could've been happy."

But then the dog had arrived. And if the dog was here, then Haplo was as well. He was no longer the only stranger on Chelestra.

A small whine broke his thoughts. He turned, finding the dog sitting up, its head tilted to the side.  _While I'm sorry for what has happened, I still don't really appreciate the full blame on me._

"But if I hadn't gone to the library again…" Alfred trailed off. Even though the doubts had been sleeping within him ever since his arrival, even though he was in love with another man's wife. Still, he could have found a way to be satisfied if he had tried hard enough. That was it really, he just hadn't tried hard enough.

This sneaking around, trying to discover the Sartan's secrets that must have been kept locked away for a good reason; these were such things Haplo would have done. He wondered, suddenly, what the Patryn was doing right now, and if he even missed his dog.

It had been three, long days.

The soft knock that came from the door didn't seem real. He was still staring at his hands, still feeling the dog's eyes bore into his head, occasionally puncturing the silence with a thump of its furry tail against the floor. He answered automatically, never even looking up. "Come in."

Orla came into the room, her footsteps brisk, the hem of her robe hanging from her stiffly. Short, white hair framed her face. The lines around her mouth had faded, and Alfred, taken in by her silence, knew that she hadn't smiled since his imprisonment.

He stood up, words forming in his throat. She was here. If she was here, then maybe-

She held up a hand, stopping him before he could begin. "I just came for the dog," she said, her tone formal. "Ramu said you requested it be given exercise."

Her words brought forth no images, nothing. They were as rigid and uncompromising as the wall she had built around herself. Alfred just barely suppressed a sigh.

"Y- yes, of course. Go on," he gestured to the dog. "Go with Orla."

It did so with amazing cooperation, its eyes bright as it walked up to the Sartan woman. Sneaking to her side, it licked her hand, making her pull it back in surprise. It had always been so curiously affectionate, Alfred thought. He couldn't help but think how Haplo wouldn't have approved.

"I want to thank-" he started, but she had already turned away, heading straight for the door.

He wasn't sure where he got the courage. Alfred was anything but brave. It was the sight of her back to him, of her white robes held up by her shoulders, a different shade from the white of the room. Older, more worn, dismal. And he loved her with all his heart.

"Orla," he called out to her. He was unable to restrain the images from his voice- of his arms around her, of his jealousy over a distant husband. He didn't really want to. She already knew anyway.

She stood very still for a moment or two. The dog was pressed against her leg, getting small strands of its black fur on the white cloth.

"You make things very difficult for us," Orla finally answered, just barely turning her head.  _For me,_  came the unspoken thought, a fine thread connecting them both.

"I know." Alfred looked to the side. That's all he'd ever done for anyone, hadn't he? And despite knowing this, he couldn't stop himself. He was truly horrible. "I've missed you."

She turned around fully, facing him. The line in her forehead had deepened, but for Alfred, it didn't mar her beauty at all.

"You have to leave this place."

The very nature of the words left him dizzy and breathless. He struggled. "I…"

"Please, Alfred," she said softly. Images poured out of her own voice, confusing and fearful. There was a face. Alfred was stunned, remembering how Orla had always maintained great control over the Sartan language. "Just leave. I'm afraid of what will happen."

The dog suddenly barked, wagging its tail. The sudden sound made Orla step back. The images, conflicting in essence, yet with the same recurring portrait of the face- Samah's, suddenly vanished.

The doubts festering in Alfred's heart, the hunger to know about his people, the mensch, the worlds around him ever since his long sleep, that had made him defy Samah for a second time, sprang to the forefront of his mind. He walked up to her, never once stumbling.

"Orla, what happened to the other Sartan? Did Samah…" he let the sentence hang, unable to voice such a horrible idea, unable to even comprehend it.

Orla's eyes widened, indignation flaring. She opened her mouth to refute the unspoken accusation, but nothing would come out. Her hand, which had been laying near the dog, held its head, clinging onto it desperately.

Sartan couldn't lie.

He reached out a hand, having the absurd notion to touch her hair. He stopped himself in time, appalled at his action. And then she was suddenly embracing him, arms around his neck, face buried in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I'm  _sorry._ " She didn't cry or shout. Her voice was calm, detached, reigning in her images again. But her hands were shaking. "We are your people. You're part of us, but…I don't know if it is because of the mensch or the Patryn, but Samah fears you."

The head of the Council of Seven? The legendary Samah fearing Alfred in his mensch clothes? It made no sense at all. He said nothing, unconsciously resting his hands on her shoulders, feeling her warmth.

"Believe me. I want you to stay," she whispered. "But not if it means…"

"Orla, please. Tell me." Certainly he was being much braver now. Just the very idea of his own brethren turning against their own, being capable of acting out those disdained mensch words -deceit, betrayal, treachery- was incredibly frightening. But he had seen the Sartan engage in civil war, stood witness to a wife, her soul trapped in-between, murder her own husband with bare hands. Abarrach had taught him that his people were capable of many, many things.

She raised her head and stepped back. Not too far off, for his hands were still on her, and her fingers still lightly trailed against the collar of his shirt. Even so, she tried to maintain that wall, moving past his questions.

"There is a power in you, Alfred," she said, strangely monotonous. "It is different from the rest of us." Her eyes slid through him, far off, far-seeing. It was an intensely familiar gaze that made him tighten his hold on her.

She said his mensch name effortlessly. She was hurt that he never told her, that one part of himself that he hid so well through the years. Orla deserved to at least have this. He swallowed, remembering the long-forgotten Sartan name, brushing away the other debris in his mind. But it wouldn't move past his throat, and then there was that ridiculous thought, the one he had been thinking over as he stood before the other Sartan in the mausoleum, that had reminded him when the dog had inexplicably arrived, bereft of its Patryn master. How could he give it, when somehow, impossibly, someone else already had it? Without even knowing it? And as he was thinking this, he moved closer. She was leaning forward.

Nothing good would come of this. They weren't young. They didn't have the excuse of being ignorant or foolish. Their years had taught them a multitude of painful, harsh lessons. The love he once had was gone, torn away in sleep, made him old. The love Orla had, if she ever really did, was distant, leaving her stranded in doubt. But comfort between two lonely people was all too easy to fall into.

He realized, too late, that he was kissing her. Arms circled around her, bringing her close. Orla didn't move away. Her hands lightly pressed against his neck. She leaned against him. He loved her, and he knew, in a rare, ecstatic moment of happiness, that she loved him too.

And she was married.

She separated from him, lingering for only a short moment, her hand grasped in his own tightly. She wouldn't look at him, instead increasing the strength of her grip to leave marks against his skin, her body shaking. Then she let go, leaving the room- leaving the dog behind from its promised release.

The feel of her stayed within him, the touch of her still lingering in his mind. He shook in sudden horror. He had… with Samah's wife! It had only lasted less than a minute, surely, but even so! Orla would never speak to him again. The shock of the moment stunned him in place. The old Alfred would have never done such a thing. Had he really been corrupted so much? From the mensch? From Haplo?

At the last thought, he looked to the dog. It stared at him, wagging its tail, seated by the door Orla had run out of. It was tilting its head again, as if the Sartan was the most peculiar creature it had ever seen.

* * *

"We cannot agree with this," spoke the elven leader named Eliason, his voice incredible subdued. "You sentence us to death."

The mensch leaders, five in total, looked small against the imposing Sartan, seated tall at their marble table. Samah had his hands clasped together, resting on the surface. His face was creased with frown lines. His eyes were narrowed.

Alfred watched the meeting between his people and the mensch in horrible fascination. The human leaders, a man and woman with dark skin, their lips twisted bitterly, were already turned toward the door. The dwarven leaders, also two, both looked ready to strike out at the Sartan in their flowing white robes. Only the elven representative remained calm and diplomatic, even as the great Samah had shouted down his requests. But once he had denied their only hope for survival, restricting them access to the vast land of Surunan to instead freeze in the Goodsea, anger finally sparked in the elf's eyes.

"We have complied with your commands, been humiliated and derided through every moment of our presence here." Eliason's voice never rose, as still as placid water. But the politeness that used to be there had all but evaporated. "Yet we cannot abandon one who we consider a dear and valuable friend."

At that, Alfred couldn't help but turn towards that door, to where Haplo had stalked out of not too long ago.  _A friend._  His thoughts bubbled, images formed. He did all he could to push them down. He looked back to the dog seated at his feet.

"I had hoped dearly it would never come to this, to walk down the path of force. But you leave us no choice-"

"Ah, so now we hear the truth." Samah's smile was triumphant, which frightened Alfred immensely. "This is, of course, what you've always intended. You mensch races have not grown out of your warlike natures at all. Very well then. Be witness to the disaster your Patryn friend has led you to. Perhaps you might even live to regret it."

After he finished speaking, Samah traced the sigils in the air, sang the runes with mastery. A flash of light suddenly erupted, accompanied by a deafening bang. Alfred shuddered. The mensch fell back in a daze, their eyelids fluttering. Once the light dimmed, Samah was no longer in the Council Chamber.

Confused and angry, the mensch marched out of the room.

Alfred turned to Orla who had stood up with the rest of the council members, all of them ready to leave. "He doesn't mean it, does he? War against mensch? Against those we were meant to protect? He can't mean it!"

She flicked him a glance. Her eyes were veiled by her hair, her face impassive. He remembered the woman that had been in his arms not too long ago, but the person before him was like a statue, entirely composed of a fear that he knew that Samah shared- that  _he_  did as well.

He didn't reach out to her as she left the room (even though he desperately wanted to), following the other Sartan. Eventually, he felt a little grateful that he was alone now. His thoughts began to turn, revisiting to when Haplo had come in with the mensch, confident in his manner.

Seeing the Patryn across the grand Council Chamber had brought back a lot of strange and confusing memories. He was surprised at how well he was able to suppress them then, at least enough so that the other Sartan couldn't infer them from his face. Even the words he would later speak aloud - _Do you remember, Haplo? The One that guides the Wave!-_  kept certain events in the dark. Whether it was because he was getting used to the Sartan rune-language after years of disuse, or because of unfathomable luck, he really had no idea.

Either way, as Haplo had glared at him in undisguised anger, turning away from him and the dog who would not respond to its master, Alfred simply knew there were some things he didn't  _want_  any of his people to see. So of course he couldn't stop thinking about the sequence of events that led to it, especially now that he was alone.

So there he was; a tall, gangly Sartan seated on the bench, with the Patryn's dog wandering about, sniffing at the floor occasionally. The clicking of the dog's claws echoed around him, highlighting the emptiness. Hours might have passed. He wasn't sure. But he remained there in that room of white, with a symmetrical beauty that reminded him of innocent days. And he couldn't stand it.

That was when Alfred concocted a plan.

It came to him all the sudden, just as the plan to get inside the library had done. Except this time, he didn't try to forget it. In fact, he felt vast relief once it hit his mind.

He knew he couldn't stay with his people any longer. He was afraid of them, of what they would do. Just the very thought of his distrust of them made his soul curl up inside him, made him long for his lost days.

Even Orla, the only one who had stood up for him, who seemed to understand his own doubts, was keeping secrets, even if she was doing so out of compassion. His mind felt fragile enough as it is. Whatever terrible history his people held, whatever Ramu had hinted at his father during their talk  _-We should do to him what we did to the others_ \- Alfred was sure he could no longer take any more deception, seeing those airy words of the Sartan underlined by shadows, barely seen, but there all the same.

No, he couldn't stay with his people any longer. He had to get away.

And Haplo provided the perfect opportunity.

The Council meeting with the mensch had been a disaster, but if his plan worked,  _maybe_  he could fix it! …Okay, perhaps not fix it completely, but he could at least make amends on the Sartan's behalf. If he could just explain to them -and to Haplo- everything would be alright. He didn't exactly know  _why_  he felt this was so, but it was certainly better than standing around here while the relations between his people and the mensch grew even more strained than they were.

Besides, he was certain the Patryn would like his dog back.

"Come here," he called to the animal who had been pacing around the floor restlessly. "We're going to see Haplo. C- calm down, boy! Calm down. Oh, dear…"

The dog, hearing the familiar name, started barking happily, pawing at the Sartan's legs as if he was hiding his former master just nearby.

"St- stay quiet," Alfred pleaded as he knelt on the floor. He reached out shaking hands to scratch behind its black ears. His eyes kept flicking to the doorway, convinced that someone would come in and demand what was going on.

Surprisingly enough, the dog complied, leaning into his large hands. He stared at its brown eyes, suddenly feeling comforted, more secure in his decision to leave. Yes, the dog may not have exactly gone up to Haplo the last time they had seen him, instead choosing to circle back and rest itself at Alfred's feet, but it had probably just been confused then. There had been a large number of people in the chamber, their silence suffocating the room as they watched the dog try to choose between the two men, like some nervous child. Alfred's prompting hadn't done much then, but he was sure that once they got at a closer proximity, the dog would certainly go back!

Because otherwise, why would it keep whining like it was now, whenever he mentioned his master's name?

"Everything will be fine," he said, partly to the dog, mostly to himself. He remained kneeling for a bit, staring at the dog's eyes that were dark and warm. There were brief flashes of towering trees, of rune-covered bodies slipping through the grass, of a sky so pitch black that no stars could be seen. He shook his head of the memories- trying to remind himself that none of them were his own.

"I'm not…" he whispered. His body shook. The dog nudged its head against his arm, offering whatever little comfort it could give.

He took deep breaths, trying to replace the dark prison with pictures of floating isles, trying to replace the image of a hard-looking woman, patterns decorating her arms, with that of a small girl, slim in her white robes and her face hidden away. With that, the feeling of terror lessened considerably, the surge of adrenaline finally leaving his veins.

Instead there was the familiar loss, the regret, the longing- acute to what he felt back on Arianus in that Geg prison cell. He thought longingly of Orla. How ironic that what he had wanted for all his life was right here in this beautiful world of water, and he could not have it.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. All he had was the plan now, hopeful in his heart. He focused on it. He couldn't let them come to war. He had seen enough of it back home.

After looking around the area, he sang the magic. His voice was low, enough so that no other Sartan could have heard unless they had been nearby. He wove the runes with his hands, with his feet, his entire body shedding away its clumsiness like a shell. The dog watched, its plumy tail wagging excitedly.

Transportation was not an easy spell to perform- especially this type, where it called onto a person specifically instead of a location. His voice rising just a fraction higher, he brought the image of the Patryn to mind, of one image in particular. It was of Haplo leaning against the wall in the chamber, arms crossed, his entire manner casual- except for his eyes, hard and impenetrable. Alfred remembered their intense gaze when they locked on him- and how he flushed as those eyes encompassed the dog that had been by his side.

But he also remembered those eyes when they were open, completely unguarded, even gentle. It was then Alfred's hesitance finally melted away.

The magic engulfed him, took him past the walls of Surunan, past the encompassing seawater. He reached out his hand, felt the familiar furred head of the dog beside him. He arrived at his destination quickly enough, the runes depositing him onto solid ground once again. Blue light faded, leaving him in darkness that felt…unnatural. He blinked, looking around in confusion.

His gaze rested on Haplo then, who happened to be just a few feet away. He was standing upright, clad in the same clothes he had worn in the meeting which consisted of his leather vest, trousers, and a loose fitting shirt. His hands and neck were exposed, the intricate runes (their fierce glow lost on Alfred) engraved against his skin.

Alfred felt such deep relief and happiness that the magic had worked so accurately, he had completely missed the look of anger on the Patryn's face.

"I'm so glad I found you!" he said, walking up to him. "You have no idea how difficult that spell is-"

"What are you  _doing_  here?"

Haplo's voice was tight, barely getting out of his throat. And Alfred was oblivious.

"I came to return your dog." He waved behind him, the animal trotting up on cue. The Sartan felt oddly proud.

"If I'd wanted the damn dog, which I don't," Haplo emphasized, his fists clenched. "I would've come for it myself!"

Said dog suddenly barked furiously, the sounds echoing around them with a hollow tone.

It was then Alfred took more note of his current location.

There was sand under his feet, much of it covered in a strange blackness, with high cavern walls surrounding him. The shadows felt thick- oily almost. He hesitated breathing the air, the very taste of it making his throat tighten. His body shook, he began to sweat. He had expected Haplo to be on the sun chasers with the mensch, and after gazing at the sand one more time, seeing no dwarf, human, or elf appear into his view, he had to conclude that this was not so.

Then he made the mistake of turning around.

They slid themselves out of the darkness, creating slimy trails against the already tainted shore. Eyes of flame burned through him, hitting him with such malevolent force that he thought he would shatter on the spot. They had long, sinuous forms, briefly reminding him of the quicksilver dragons that dwelled in the High Realms of Arianus- until he remembered Samah's images, speaking of the trouble the Sartan had endured here.

One of the beasts, bigger than the rest, lowered its head. Poison coated its scales, dripped from a toothless mouth.

" _Serpent Mage!"_

Its words stung him, drowned him in such palpable, unendurable hatred. He knew in that instant that it wanted him dead, wanted him to suffer, wanted his very existence to be erased, to never have been.

So he fainted, because what could he do against such a force that was as timeless and powerful as this? Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. He couldn't…

Even unconscious he could still hear the monster's horrible voices, like acid hitting against his skin. He buried himself deeper into his mind, hoping to fade away into complete forgetfulness. There was movement. It wasn't his own. A familiar furry head nudged against his hands, followed by the swipe of a tongue.

And then he woke- to Haplo leaning over him, squatting down on his knees. He didn't look the least pleased.

"H- hello," Alfred wheezed out, still a little dazed.

The Patryn did nothing but stare. His eyes were intense, focused, completely aware.

They were outside, the cave from before just a large, gaping hole cut into the side of the mountains. There was the sound of water lapping at the shoreline. The dog was pawing at the sand, trying to dig up a little hermit crab that had tunneled away.

The breeze, the water, the snuffling of the dog, only emphasized the silence between the two. Alfred felt vastly uncomfortable. He desperately latched onto a fresh memory- instantly regretting it.

"Are they gone?" he asked, eyes shifting to the cave. It was completely shrouded in blackness.

Haplo spoke then, ignoring the question completely. "What do you want, Alfred?"

 _Coren_.

It's not a word he hears, but an impression, digging inside Alfred's skull. He had to remind himself (and for some reason, it is difficult when he does) that what he  _thinks_ is swimming through his head is certainly not what Haplo had said, or insinuated, or anything of the sort. There was no one living who knew this. He had even forgotten it himself, content to do so, satisfied to bury the pain that came with it before it could overwhelm him completely.

But the Patryn had come along, his bandaged hands held up in front of him, softly speaking aloud the names Hugh had given him on their introduction. Magic lived in their words, and it was the only thing to Alfred that made any sense as to just why he was reminded of it all. But Samah hadn't said it, neither did Orla, or any of the Sartan-  _his very own people._  He was afraid to know why Haplo was the exception, because there had been no Death's Gate to blame then; just a voice, and a meaningless thrill.

It's what he felt as Haplo looked down on him. He apparently took a long time in answering.

"Sartan!"

"Wh… what?"

"I asked you a question."

Haplo was now standing, pointedly taking a several steps back, his arms crossed. He made no move to help Alfred get to his feet.

"I just… I came to return your dog."

"Like I'd believe that."

"It's true!" He clambered up, legs shaking. "I thought you would be with the mensch, and I-"

"I'm obviously not," Haplo interrupted. "Did Samah send you?"

"Y-you're not listening. No one sent me. I just… your dog has been very unhappy lately."

The animal sat just between the two, (the hermit crab had gotten away) its tail brushing the sand. A plaintive whine echoed from its throat.

Haplo kept his distance. Alfred could see the walls of his being erected high. Bits of it crumbled at the dog's sound, but only that.

"You're not lying, Sartan," he said, his voice dangerously low. "But you're not telling me the whole truth either."

He was speaking Patryn. Dark shadows leaked from his words. There were unspoken threats, an anger suddenly fueled, and Alfred knew it was because of him. He had made another stupid mistake.

Still, he remained under Haplo's glare. It was uncomfortable, yes, but… he wasn't frightened. It was hard to be, remembering the man before him as a hurting child in the forest. Besides, all of his fear had been used up; from his people, from Ramu's vague threat, from-

He unconsciously turned towards the cave. Something moved inside.

"I wanted to talk to the mensch. To convince them to just wait a little. This war," he clutched at his arm, looking to the sand. "It will bring disaster."

Certainly something that the Patryn emissary of Chaos would want, but he felt, somehow, that Haplo would understand what he meant.

His tone was pleading. "If I could just figure out what to do… but I need time. Because if those terrible things…"

When he looked back to Haplo, he finally noticed the other's skin. There was a blue glow, incredibly faint, highlighted against his arms, outlining the interconnecting runes.

"You don't trust them either, do you?"

Haplo's only response was to turn his eyes toward the cave. And it was then Alfred realized there was something quite different about him. He hadn't really noticed back in the council meeting, too immersed in his own unhappiness. It wasn't a specific thing either, nothing readily apparent in Haplo's demeanor. He was still quiet, thoughtful, forever aggravated by Alfred's existence. But there was something else- a flash across his eyes, wings of doubt resting in his head. There was worry, and it wasn't just for himself.

Chelestra, Alfred recalled sadly, was a world of change, it seemed.

The dog softly padded over to the Patryn, its whine subdued. Haplo let a hand rest on its head.

"Is that really what you came for?"

Alfred blinked in confusion. His thoughts scattered.

"To talk with the mensch," Haplo reminded, his gaze moving back to the Sartan. His tone had lost its sharpness, taking on a gentler shade that Alfred thought was much more becoming. "Right?"

"Of- Of course," he replied, because what other reason, besides bringing back the dog, could he have?

Haplo wouldn't let up his stare. It was as intense as before, but the flames of anger had died. Now they were distant, observing, analyzing him. Alfred wasn't really sure what to think of the scrutiny, though he supposed he couldn't really blame Haplo for still not trusting him. Feeling a sense of defeat, he directed his own gaze to his shoes. His chest felt oddly tight.

"Alfred."

 _Coren._  There it was again. He kept his eyes down. No. No, he would not think about that- or its implications. He would rather just stand here and examine his own footwear. (Dark leather, faded boot clasps, with scuffs all around the edges from his travels. He had gotten to know them quite well). Of course it wouldn't leave his head still. The name, the memory of it, forcefully brought back young faces that he had taken for granted, brought back a feeling that he had thought had died completely.

"Alfred! I'm talking to you!"

The dog entered his line of vision, sat down at his feet.

Alfred raised his head to find Haplo much nearer than before. He had only a moved a couple of feet closer to him, but Alfred certainly hadn't heard the other's footsteps. He flinched involuntarily, frightened how his mind had just shut down for that brief moment, as if he was ready to faint again…

Haplo's arms hung by his sides. The runes on his skin were a couple shades darker, their light barely visible.

"I need to ask you something else."

The dog was pawing at the Sartan's leg with great affection, tongue lolling from its mouth. Alfred tried to push it aside gently, all the while aware of Haplo's stare, of his incredibly serious tone.

"What is it?" Alfed inquired, his eyes looking every which way but at him.

At this, Haplo suddenly looked annoyed. His fists clenched, his lips pressed firmly together. Had he expected Alfred to know what he was referring to?

"You have to tell me what you did to me."

"I…" Alfred trailed off, clueless. "What did I do?"

"On Abarrach." Haplo forced the words out, as if holding them in caused him physical pain. "What  _you_  did."

Throughout his stay in Surunan, he had tried adamantly to forget his horrible travels in that world of stone. Yet still, he could recall the ever shifting face of Jera, her echoes of pain, of Haplo lying in the cell, near death. That was all Abarrach was. Nothing but death. But of course that wasn't what the Patryn was talking about, not those moments on the world but above it, when his eyes had suddenly changed.

"It wasn't me."

And he was sure, (well, fairly sure at least) that what he said was true. He could blame himself for not moving away soon enough, to let the feelings of confusion, of nervousness, of something else, lock his body in place. But certainly not… that.

Haplo gritted his teeth, looked away. It was not the answer he had wanted. At all.

Alfred prepared himself for accusations. He wasn't sure if he could defend himself again, because he still had no idea what had happened. Maybe trying to heal the Patryn  _had_ done something. He had never tried to heal someone like that before, so what if he had-

"Then what is happening to me?"

Haplo's face hadn't changed. His tone was even, still. But the question was genuine, the doubt he had been trying to hide away now making itself more apparent. The rune-language painted his uncertainty in the air much too plainly, so much that Alfred couldn't mistake it for anything else.

"Memories keep coming back to me," he continued, letting out the words slowly. "Things that shouldn't even matter now."

"I don't…" Alfred gestured helplessly. "I really don't understand."

"Some of these memories aren't even mine."

His words portrayed a white mausoleum, of young people in their tombs, cut down in their sleep. There were brief flashes of those same people walking in the light, their robes shifting in the breeze- and then it focused on one person in particular, a young girl, her hood down, her voice incredibly clear and resonant.

They were private images that had been locked away in Alfred's heart, the dust of the passing years covering them. And here was Haplo, revealing them, handling them with a disquieting familiarity.

"Can you explain that at least?" Haplo was asking, his voice a fraction louder. There was a faint, desperate edge to it.

"But, I don't know," Alfred said, feeling useless. "If I did somehow cause this, it was certainly not my intent!"

"Really now?' Haplo quirked an eyebrow. "You certainly do strange things with your magic often enough. All without intent, or 'forgetting.'"

"But…that's the truth. I would never want any of this. I can't even sleep because of what I see! At times I even forget who I-"

He shut his mouth quickly, taking back the words. It seemed to him that the dog was grinning.

"What? What did you see?" Haplo moved closer. The dog had to step out of the way for fear of being trampled. "Sartan?"

"Nothing." But his mind was whirring, repeating scenes that were so foreign yet familiar. His eyes strayed to the dog, who was staring back at him with its brown eyes, tail brushing against the sand happily.

Something grabbed his wrist. He jumped slightly, looked down to find a tattooed hand just over his own. The grip wasn't forceful, at least not in a way that would have been painful.

"It- it's nothing!" Alfred tried again, but the words were ineffectual. His voice brought forth the images that had been lodged inside his head, transmitting the knowledge of a darkness that no Sartan of Arianus could have ever possibly experienced.

Haplo's eyes widened slightly. His grip tightened. Private things that no one else should have known.

Alfred knew that now would be a good time to pull away. But of course his body wouldn't cooperate. He stayed in place, rooted to the sand, hearing the water currents crash in the distance. Because, as strange as it was, he  _still_ didn't feel frightened. He was a bit nervous, (the Patryn was very near), but that was all it was. And the nearness brought to mind of Orla grasping his hand in shared pain, of Lya reaching out to him gratefully.

Both of them remained where they were, trapped in a silence that felt oddly companionable. Haplo had turned his gaze to the ground, suddenly looking very, very tired.

It was only the knowledge of the dreaded serpents, of the cave that was still right near them, that prompted Alfred to speak. "I'm sorry I'm not much help."

As if in reaction to his apology, Haplo suddenly grabbed his other wrist. Left hand in his right, right in his left. Alfred nearly stumbled backwards in shock, and it was only because of the other's hold on him that he didn't fall over completely.

"Haplo?" But the Patryn had shut his eyes. The runes on his arms cast a stronger light. An attack of some kind? But a warmth, electrifying, was moving through his blood. Alfred realized what he was doing; he was trying to forge the circle between them again, though to what goal he had really no idea.

 _I need to know why._  A voice echoed in his head, a voice that belonged to the one before him.  _I need to know what is going on._

"I don' think-" Alfred started to protest, but Haplo tightened his grip, making clear that he was to shut his mouth. The Sartan swallowed, feeling the magic form around him.

Haplo was chanting, his words uttered low and beneath his breath. It was not a healing spell, that was for certain. And though Alfred tried to discern the words, it was difficult to do so over the rushing in his ears.

The Patryn language, harsh in its existence, dove straight into Alfred's chest, bringing Haplo's consciousness with it. Pictures swam before his eyes- of a ship breaking apart, runes being wiped clean from the skin. There were children as well, mensch children of each race respectively, looking at him with a mixture of wonder and suspicion.

Going through Death's Gate had made them exchange identities for a brief, torturous moment. Memories locked away were finally let free, their pain still so very fresh, no matter the years that had passed. An experience of loss and devastation, a feeling that each knew so intimately, and were able to find in another. Alfred still didn't know why the tumultuous magic of Death's Gate had made them go through that, but it had no doubt connected them on a similar level, reinforcing the brief things he had seen on Arianus. Was that what Haplo was trying to do? Recreate the magic that had made them go through one another's heads?

But the memories only came from one source. Haplo continued supplying Alfred with a multitude of images. And in them, Alfred  _was_  Haplo, going through each flash as the Patryn. He was standing in the control room of a sun-chaser, the area full of the same darkness he had experienced within the cave, of fear seeping through his skin. Red-green eyes blinked at him as a voice spoke in soft, disgusting hisses. This switched to a meeting with the serpents on this same beach, calling him 'Master,' plotting with him to overtake the Sartan of this world.

Alfred felt Haplo's anger, his hunger for vengeance, for blood. And it was completely understandable. He wasn't shocked, or terrified- only sad.

There was a waterfall of interactions with the mensch; of a dwarf maiden side-eyeing the Patryn whenever he passed, of a young male elf silently hanging up from the vines, and a human girl, her features echoing those of the human leaders back in that chamber, looking up at him with clear admiration. Confusing, chaotic- the anger was fading, compassion taking hold of him for the mensch's predicament, pity for a life that tried to take itself away, mercy for a girl's fragile, naïve sentiments.

Alfred felt overflowed. So much to experience in such a short amount of time. His limbs shook, air left his lungs. He tried to copy Haplo's actions, releasing some of his own memories through Haplo's arms, but his legs suddenly failed him. He fell forward, felt strong arms hold him off the ground.

"Alfred!" Haplo shouted, his tone slightly worried, mostly annoyed. " _Alfred!"_

He had taken that name when he finally left the mausoleum on Drevlin, after spending so many long months waiting there, hoping that one day his people, his Lya, would wake up again. It was a name he had come upon in his youth, a passing reference in one of the books he used to read. He was not sure why it stuck in his head, but it had been there, echoing inside him after hearing nothing but silence. The crashing thunderstorms of Drevlin had bore down on his body, the rain drenching the robes to his skin. When he looked to the skies, seeing the shadows of isles just against the clouds, he took hold of it  _-Alfred-_  and finally left his home. Even though it would take years for him to finally come to heartbroken acceptance that there were no other Sartan left in the world, he carried the name around, slowly burying Coren away, piece by piece.

And yet that was all he heard as Haplo was shouting at him.  _Coren! Coren!_  And he really, truly felt like he was home again, more than he ever had been in Surunan, among his own kind.

With shaking breaths, he was able to hold himself up, still grasping onto the Patryn's arms for support.

"I'm…I'm okay," he gasped out. Though he felt he would really like nothing better than to fall asleep. The magic still covered around them both like a blanket. He was grateful for Haplo's strength, that he was _here_. Haplo was looking at him, silently questioning, and he wanted to tell him then and there. He wanted to reveal the name he had once so vehemently despised, because he was certain- no, he knew that Haplo would take it, would hold it with great care, and more importantly, would  _know._

Just as he was about to speak again, Haplo raised his head, narrowed his eyes. He straightened, stepping back as he released Alfred's arms. The Sartan crumpled to his knees.

What he heard next was like a spear impaling itself through his back. The deep voice was triumphant, rising above the frantic barking of the dog.

"So I find you here in the company of a Patryn," spoke Samah. "Why am I not surprised?"

* * *

After years of living in Drevlin, Coren finally got used to the constant storms.

Moving out of the High Realms, an open place of air and light where he had spent his childhood, had been a difficult transition. But Lya, his love (just thinking the word made his head wonderfully lightheaded) reassured him, ecstatic in her own way to properly introduce him the home she had always known. Upon first arriving, she whisked him away to the tunnels, easing away his sadness by showing off all the parts of the great machine that the dwarves were now affectionately calling the "Kicksey-Winsey." It had gotten even larger than the last time he had visited; expanding itself, creating new walls, new domains, its skin of polished brass shining from the glow of the lamps. There were many diverging pathways, much more so than he was even aware of than on any of his previous visits. The runes guided their way, but Lya traversed the tunnels with such ease that he was sure she didn't even need the magic for help.

Rain was a rare, nearly unheard of phenomenon in all other parts of Arianus. Yet Drevlin, embroiled near the maelstrom, experienced it every day of every hour. Breaks in the storm lasted for only a few minutes at most. Even the Sartan dared not venture out into the weather for very long. Lya, strange as she was, liked to watch the dark clouds from the doorways, their shapes lit up by the lightning. Coren would sometimes watch with her, and grew to like the soft pattering of the rain, the deep rumbling of the thunder.

But today, he was watching alone. The wind was strong, whipping around his robes, water falling all around him heavily. His eyes were on the sky. He hadn't been out for very long, and the sounds of the storm relaxed his mind.

They had three days left. Three days before the Sartan would go to sleep.

"Coren?" A voice called out from behind him. He turned to find Lya near. She had grown taller over the years, her hair a bit straighter. Her hood was still up, still covered her face, as it usually did whenever they were in public. He watched as small hands reached up, pulling back the cowl just a little, enough to reveal her eyes.

Coren unconsciously gave a little smile. His hand, large but graceful, found hers. Usually so willing to gaze at her, he found himself turning back to the sky, his attention lost to the rain.

Something was flying through the clouds.

"Is it a ship?" Lya asked, her voice clear and pronounced against the storm. Coren's was soft, nearly inaudible in comparison.

"It's a dragon."

The creature was incredibly large, the leathery wings outstretched against the sky, its color a bright green. It wasn't the slender, sinuous forms of the quicksilver dragons, but those that the humans had trained for war and travel, those the elves butchered for their dragonships. A distant roar echoed, fighting against the thunder.

The wind buffeted the dragon around continuously. It tried to fly alongside the lightning, nearly losing its momentum. Any second it would fall, plummet straight into the maelstrom, and be lost. Dragons didn't come down to the Low Realms. No human ever flew the creatures past the dark clouds unless they were set to die. But there was no harness on this one, no emblazoned crest of a lord on its chest. A wild, free creature that somehow ventured below the isles of its home.

It made a bright shape against the darkness. Coren couldn't look away.

The dragons were an anomaly on Arianus. After the Sundering, reptilian creatures, a myth of the old, ancient world, had appeared in the World of Air. The Sartan had found this unsettling at first, but the quicksilvers were few in number, and the winged dragons, while more numerous, were little more than beasts, simple in their intelligence. They were also easy to control, to the point that even the human wizards could house the animals in their own keeps, like glorified horses.

Coren himself had never seen this type of dragon before. He looked at it with undisguised admiration. It was fighting against nature itself to live. It flapped its wings, climbing higher into the sky. Whatever situation that had led it here, it was intent on surviving through it. And somehow, it made him wonder, briefly, what would happen if he had chosen to stay awake instead.

Both Coren and Lya watched silently as it disappeared into the distance, finally leaving their sight. They remained there still, holding the other's hand with increasing tightness.

Coren shook away the doubts in his head. No, he was still intent on leaving this world. There was the mensch wars, the dwindling populace. The magic of the High Realms had grown harder to maintain, the shield that helped the plants thrive and the humans to breathe, already failing. He hadn't truly believed it then, that his people were growing so weak, not even when he came across the lake he and Lya had walked to so many times. The water had dried up, leaving nothing but a hole in the ground. It took the death of his mother, as sudden as the rest, to finally convince him.

What could he do here if he stayed anyway? He was not as strong as his other brethren, not as smart, not as skilled. No, he would rather sleep, with Lya beside him. His people from the other worlds would come. Then everything would stop breaking. People would stop dying. Everything would be fixed. He believed this wholeheartedly. There was nothing else for him to do.

The storm abated for its short few minutes, finally letting go of Coren's attention. He turned back to Lya who beamed at him with a smile. But for a brief second, he swore that her eyes had been wide and thoughtful, much more than he had ever seen them before. It was as if she had seen something in him then, something that she recognized, like a shape that covered him whole, that highlighted his person against the shadows.

* * *

Flying above the tortured seamoon, his claws embedded in the largest of the fat, wriggling dragon-snakes, Alfred was engulfed in a thrill he had never before felt. His leathery wings stretched out further, pushing down on the air as he ascended. His prey hissed in fear and rage.

It would not be a memory he would recall. Instead it would be buried away like all the other pieces that had ever belonged to Coren, like the knowledge of greater things, like the wondrous creature in the storm. It was always easier to forget, or so he had once believed.

The Serpent Mage, dressed in the form of a green and gold dragon, looked down, saw the Patryn lying on the sand, staining it with his blood. Eyes clouded with pain, with the need for sleep, gazed back at him with a sudden clarity, an inborn recognition that the dragon felt an affinity for. He dropped the dragon-snake then, crashing its repulsive body onto the sharp crags of the mountain below.

The experience already started to fade from his mind. But still Coren rose, slowly waking from a sleep that had lasted much too long.


	6. The Hand of Chaos: Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming weird identity issues in this chapter. Those are fun, aren't they? :)
> 
> Sorry for the wait. Luckily, Into the Labyrinth is a way fun book so next part should come by faster. /TEMPTS FATE

 

Haplo had actually been happy once.

Granted, happiness was always laced with bitterness in the Labyrinth. Exhaustion came first, followed by frustration, morphing to hatred. But Marit brought him calm somehow. When traveling with her, the landscape actually didn't seem like such a death-trap. The run was no longer as tiring.

"The rain has been going on for almost a week," she had stated, seated with him underneath the thick canopy of a tree. They had formed the leaves and branches above them, making a hand-crafted roof to shield them from the water. Runes were etched all around them; on the hard ground, on the rocks that once formed their campfire, on the tree itself. It never hurt to be extra cautious.

Haplo shrugged, leaned back against the bark. "It's a wonder nothing has come after us yet."

"No need to tempt it," Marid added with a smile. Her teasing was rare, and because it was so rare, it was treasured.

The sky was gloomy, the mud of the grasslands making it difficult to walk on, the air a frigid chill. And he had never felt so calm.

The Patryn woman leaned against his arm, her chestnut hair brushing his shoulder. They had passed several Gates together, her eyes keeping watch on the skies while he looked behind. Rocs and wolfen could not catch them by surprise as often as when they had ran alone. A quick warning, either passed by a shout or a look, gave them enough time to prepare a spell and bring forth fire against a hungry mouth, and was a great deal more accurate then the glow of their tattoos.

The curling lines on Marit's hand was dark, as shaded as the landscape before them. It didn't mean that danger was far, not at all, but it was at a reasonable distance. And Marit's eyes were always sharp, so that no moving shadow could sneak past.

"You know it's trying to slow us down." She turned to him, gripped his hand. "We should've moved on days ago."

"I know."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you worried?" He smiled.

"Perhaps I should be if you're getting soft," she said with a smile of her own. It was a hard twist on her lips, but genuine.

"If I was, then I'm even more glad to have you watch over me."

She laughed then. Low, more like a whisper, but very, very clear.

He was reminded of a similar scene. His parents rarely expressed themselves, to each other or to him. There was only the urge to move, to eat, to take sleep when one could, and any spare time they had was used for lessons. His hands would always sting after one, but his father was stern, not cruel. There were hours of memorization, of knowing each rune and the pathways it took, of how to create some of his own. After, his mother would put a salve over his palm in silence, then make him rest for their run the next day.

One night, he did not fall asleep right away. His mother had been seated beside him, his head on her lap, only so that she could easily grab hold of him should a creature try to strike at easy prey. She didn't stroke his hair, or say anything at all. But in the dark, he saw his father approach, saw him lay a hand on her shoulder. She had turned to him, and she had smiled, but young Haplo had been too exhausted then to be surprised.

He gripped Marit's hand back, watched the play of weak sunlight coat her hair.  _A child would mean the death of us._

It was his people's duty to keep their race alive. Children needed to be born, to continue the fight that their parents had endured. Many Runners who had children of their own would either settle down as Squatters, or leave the child in a village to continue the run on their own. Then there was his own unique situation; Runners that carried their own, cared for their own at the cost of extra burdens, of slower speed, and eventual death.

It was his duty to have one, but he did not want it.

There were very few days he would feel this… relaxed, content. But even now, there was that itch to keep moving, to travel down the lone pathway and pass through another Gate. He could not imagine bringing another small thing around, to protect from the claws that would eventually come, all the while lugging at a speed that would set his teeth grinding. And a Squatter village was unthinkable. Even as a child he could not stay there long, and had left with the men who had found him hiding in the bushes on the day he was orphaned.

No, a child was too much.

Instantly, he felt her stiffen. She sat up straighter, eyes locked onto the dark skies. The clouds stretched across the horizon, leaving few spots for direct sunlight. But Haplo had felt the shadow too, briefly passing over them.

"You just had to tempt it, didn't you?" she said to him.

Whispering a chant, he cloaked themselves against the dirt and grass, slowly stood up with her as they searched for a route away from their spot. "Come on."

They weren't sure what the shape had been- perhaps it had been a roc out on the hunt, or it could have been an actual regular bird, one of the few normal creatures spared the twisted deformities of the Labyrinth's creatures. When they had looked at each other, he had seen Marit's image, seen through her eyes- depicting a monstrous size in the clouds, of a neck that seemed too long. But they would not stay to find out, and so continued to do what they had always done; running down the path.

If they had had a child with them, they would've had to adjust their pace for it, hold back its cries. One misguided little shout would have been enough to draw the flying thing down to them. A child asked for too much to give, especially when all he wanted, first and foremost, was escape. His parents had paid that price for him after all.

He had thought Marit felt the same way, was sure of it. A Runner knew the risks, and very few could barely stay in place. She understood.

And then she had asked him.

* * *

Haplo was usually not one to let his mind wander. Both his upbringing and experience had taught him that not only was it wasteful, but how it could lead to danger. Like many Patryns, he was mindful of his surroundings, focused on the task at hand. It would not do to reminisce about past days while inexplicably wandering into a dragon's den. Even when he left the Labyrinth, he did not let down his guard any less.

But the dog had barked at him, made him blink, made him -for a short but worrying moment- unsure of where he was.

He did not know how long he had been walking through the streets. The elegant buildings of the Nexus were behind him, their white spires curling up toward the water colored sky. A field of blackened grass spread out before his feet, bare and empty and silent. There was nothing here, no one around, but the gate that led out of the city.

The dog was sniffing the ground curiously, occasionally looking back at its master, waiting for him.  _This is where you wanted to go, isn't it?_

The Final Gate was where he had finally escaped the Labyrinth. With his Lord's help, with the dog's. He stared at its metal grillwork, the spaces between the iron bars giving him view to the empty plain beyond it. If he looked hard enough, he thought he could see where the ground had been disturbed, a marking of claws ripping across it, of magic sparking against it. Someone had escaped here recently, for if the Labyrinth had once again succeeded, a body -or what was left of it- would have been present there as another trophy.

He had never found the courage to go back through it again.

Haplo shook his head. "I have to go back." Back home to the Lord of the Nexus' mansion. He needed to prepare for his mission to Arianus, to get Bane ready, and make the necessary adjustments for his ship that his Lord would provide. He nodded to himself, ready to make good on that thought, and walked forward.

The dog scurried up to him, tongue lolling from its mouth. It was excited, eager, even as the darkness inside the Gate moved closer to them.

Haplo had to restrain himself. He stopped in his tracks, unsure why his own body was disobeying him before. There were twisted trees beyond that barren plain. He remembered how he had leaned against one of them, the toughness of the bark scratching his shoulder. He had been nervous, giving himself time to recuperate. Just one more obstacle, then he would be free. He would finally make it home.

A home where he had looked at his people with suspicion, where he had grabbed a woman's wrist, thinking,  _Do these images make sense? Are these the runes I know? Are her eyes red?_

Haplo took another step, clenched his fists. "What's wrong with me?" he asked himself. "My head… I am tired from all that has happened. That's it." The dog was brushing against his leg, and he appeased it with a comforting scratch behind its ear. "I'm okay, boy. I just need some rest."

His homecoming had been exhausting, unpleasant. The serpent had walked by him, covered in the guise of a Patryn man, the runes on his skin in a chaotic order. "We have met before," he had said with a hiss much too familiar, dripping venom onto his mind. And Haplo could not get those runes out of his head, staring at this very familiar, very wrong thing.  _But we are supposed to bring chaos to all the worlds. And if my Lord approves of this…_

He had tried telling Xar all the same, sharing with him the images of the serpents in their true form, of one striking out at a young girl who had later died in his arms. But his lord did not see, would not see.  _He is wiser than me. I must not question him._  Even so, Haplo could not have kept the surprise from his voice, hearing his lord admit to speaking with the serpents- their allies. "They have bowed before me and called me master."

"As they did with me," Haplo had answered,  _argued._

The Final Gate brought back painful images for him. The chaodyn's spear had been sharp and lethal, plunging through his shoulder and tearing apart the muscle. By then, he became too tired, ready to die, unable to take the pain. What was the purpose of fighting? He had barely the strength to move his legs, until he had heard something bark near him, saw something move across his vision; a black dog with a plumy tail.

Haplo could not stop staring at it. The prison was pulling him back, the evil thing trying to lure him out to the grounds and have the grass ensnare him as wolfen tore out his entrails. He thought he could hear voices through it too, of people still fighting to get out. Of the woman with her deadly spear, of his child living within a Squatter's hut. Of Alfred.

"Do you now rely on me, Haplo?" Xar had questioned him, sparing a glance toward the dog. "Or have you come to rely on another?"

"If you mean Alfred, Lord, you are wrong! He's gone now anyway! Probably dead."

_He is not dead._

Haplo, his thoughts turning into a jumbled mess, tried to shake them away. "This is just some trick. There is no point for me to be here." But still, he couldn't turn around. He held onto his dog's head, keeping it near his leg. The animal made no sound of complaint, and just brushed its tail on the ground with content.

He had been corrupted, there was no doubt of that. He thought he had been cleansed, that the images of crystal tombs and a young face had been eradicated from memory. But it had already taken root, hadn't it? Long before Chelestra, perhaps even Abarrach. It had grown and festered, and reduced him to  _this_ , a man who couldn't even control his own legs. He might as well have been the clumsy Sartan himself.

And this Sartan wasn't dead. He knew that, knew it like the torn heart-rune over his chest, like the softness of the dog's fur, like Lya's own face-

Haplo shuddered, fell to his knees. His head felt like it was about to burst. The dog gave a whine to voice its alarm. "These are  _not_  mine!"

It was because of stress, because of his Lord's disappointment, because of his people's icy stares. And even though such images felt much too familiar, and that he knew that this familiarity did not come from his very own self, but from another who had also been walking through the streets and saw the eyes of his own people regard himself with pity and distrust-

_Alfred's not dead._

The woman was in the Labyrinth.  _Her name is Marit._  His child was in there too, if his suspicions were right. There was the very real possibility that both of them were dead, that they might've died a long time ago during another raid on a Squatters camp, or ambushed along the path. But Alfred, who was also in the Labyrinth, wasn't dead. This he knew for a certainty.

"I have to go back," he said to himself, his voice low and dazed. Back home, where the trees covered a dark sky.

He had no plan, no rational thought. There were images bombarding his mind. They were of the tombs again holding his dead friends - _but they are not mine-_  of walking under an open sky, with crystal trees against the horizon, reflecting back the light. They were of a girl beside him, her face covering all except for her smile. The same images he had given back to Alfred, handling them very carefully, too much so between two who were supposed to be enemies.  _Samah executed the Sundering, created the Labyrinth, not Alfred_. Suddenly, there was no hatred left for the lone Sartan from Arianus. It was too exhausting to hate.

But there was a new image, of soaring through the skies above Draknor, the feel of a wriggling snake-like body in his claws. It should have been surprising to know that Alfred could wear such a shape, but how could it, when it was so much like that dragon in the storm, trying to break free?  _But I had been too afraid back then,_  he heard Alfred say, a pleasant intrusion, something that reminded him of home.

Not the Nexus, with its strange and foreign architecture. Not even his lord, with his deep sigh. The trees beyond the gate, twisted with dark magic, were familiar, if not comforting.

_Go home._

He had gotten far enough to lay a hand against the gate lock. Just a twist, and it would open. The prison would welcome him back gladly with fangs and blood. He had tried going back once before with Xar, but he had been too consumed with fear then, collapsing to the ground, crying for forgiveness. He was still afraid, but it was easier to control. This was not the dark cave of Draknor with its black sands, with the seamoon's cries silently radiating from the walls as mouths tore off chunks of its realm. This was a place he knew, with its own wealth of terrors that he had finally beaten. If he had done it once before, then…

The gate's bars were cold, chilling his fingers, bringing with it a sharp pain. His mind brightened for a moment, seeing with clarity just where he was and what he intended to do. Xar would not be pleased if he did this, but his lord had not been pleased with him since he had arrived. And his lord did not even believe him, his most trusted son and emissary.

He turned to his right, found the dog sitting on its haunches, waiting patiently. Alfred had brought it back to him in that cave. Xar had not been pleased with that fact either.

The dog sniffed, tilted its head.  _Are we going to look for him?_

Alfred was the only one who knew and understood the danger. And for that, he had been deemed an outcast, a threat, sent off to the Labyrinth by his very own. Because he had been corrupted, Samah had claimed. A sickness brought on by the Patryn's influence, past the point of recovery.

The memories assaulting Haplo were unbearable.

_He is rushing through the tunnels back on Drevlin, the light of the runes sputtering to life at his voice, cracked with grief. The great machine is overgrown, the dig-claws tearing away at the coralite in greed. He searches all over the Low Realms, underground and above with the hustling dwarves. He finds no one but his friends in their crystal beds. It is only when he makes it outside, with the rain hitting his face, that he finally finds the strength to leave. With that strength, he takes on a name and leaves his home. And he lives._

_Now it is time to go back._

The gate creaked, swinging inward. The wind gave a sigh.

"I know how you feel."

For a moment, he thought it was just his head again -his messed up, aching head- but it did not bring with it an image or a memory of forgotten things. Haplo turned, nearly stumbled again, now on one knee. Zifnab stood before him, nodding solemnly, in the same battered hat and cloak.

"You?"

The old man blinked at him, smiled widely. "Hello! Say, you wouldn't have seen my hat around here, have you?"

The gate closed by itself, disregarded.

* * *

His clothes still dripping wet from the rain, the man ducked into another opening that led further inside the building, a tunnel that dug deep into the ground. The sound of the great machine above him rang through his eardrums so heavily that he thought they would shatter from the force. He tried to hear for other footsteps, didn't think he could even discern them from the calamitous noise. But once he was in, the tunnel opening slid itself shut. The silence washed over him abruptly.

He had a satchel slung over his shoulders, carrying a surprisingly large number of tomes within its contents. The tough leather of the satchel had kept them protected, tiny beads of water sliding down its surface to drip to the floor. It was the only sound in the darkness, echoing around him, along with his pulse. He knew he had to keep moving down the tunnel and light up the shadows, but instead he dropped his precious books to the ground, his body following it soon after.

Haplo laid his back against the wall, took slow, deep breaths. He stared down at his hands, stared at them for a long time. They were large and raw-boned, beyond pale and ungainly. No markings showed, and he knew that if he decided to run his hand against his head, he'd only feel bareness. Hell, if he tried standing up, he might have just fallen flat on his face.

Haplo did not appreciate any of this.

On his return to Arianus, the memories had only worsened, bits of it bleeding into his reality. The closeness to the mausoleum must have instigated this, when he had traveled down here with Bane and the dwarves. It was a place that meant nothing to him,  _shouldn't_  have meant anything. But his travel through their tunnels - _this way leads back another way to the surface, and the sleeping quarters were by the corner on the right-_  left him uneasy, especially when his runes had lit up, warning him of something else there, and how strongly he had felt then that he did  _not_  want this entity anywhere near the tombs of the dead. The sense of wrongness had been so prevalent that he had honestly thought he would collapse.  _Something that Alfred would do but I am not-_

He coughed- Alfred coughed, dust mites suddenly lodging in his throat. He brought up those hands to his mouth, trying to muffle the sound, wondering why he even bothered. No one would hear down in these tunnels, and if the dead even could, they didn't care to acknowledge it.

He was dressed in mensch clothes- court clothes to be exact. They were well-made for the most part, good for traveling. And he had traveled far, Haplo suddenly realized. He had made his way across the floating isles of Arianus, sometimes by dragon back, sometimes by magic. But he did the latter far less often, afraid that someone would hear his song. The stories were still told and re-told, the people swearing oaths by his people's name. They would know, if they ever saw him. They would know.

Haplo had the distinct feeling of being very, very tired.

"I should hurry," he- Alfred, right- said out loud. "Or they'll notice I'm gone."

Images played in Alfred's head; a squat, grey castle, its bulwarks as imposing as its size. There was also a woman in a dress made of lace, though chain mail could be seen poking from her sleeves. Her face was stern, imposing. "Our child will need to be cared for."

"I can't take long, mustn't- mustn't take too long." Alfred rambled, straggling to his feet, just remembering to grab the satchel by its strap. "It was to the left, I…I think. It shouldn't be too far, if I just follow the wall…"

The Sartan would know, Haplo mused. Of course he did. Why was there a need to even question it? But Alfred kept talking, nonsensical, commenting on the walls, on the weight of his satchel ("I probably shouldn't have taken so many books, I suppose. At least not the one on ancient mensch poetry. How would that be of any use?") But Haplo himself would talk to himself out loud to organize his thoughts, a remnant of his days in the Labyrinth alone. Was it so strange that Alfred might do so too?  _You stayed down here for years by yourself. You just needed to hear something, even if it was only your own voice. Either that or go completely mad with the silence._

The runes inscribed on the tunnels lit up at Alfred's voice, now changed to a low hum. Haplo, trapped inside Alfred's body (mind? What point was there in making the distinction?) listened to it, no longer surprised at the familiarity he felt.

He should not have been comfortable with this, not this of all things. But he felt the chill against the wall with Alfred's hands, heard the threads of a song, knew how the melody went before it would even resonate in the air. And even worse, they were going deeper into these tunnels, not out. He still remembered his other dream from before; of a lonely and awake Alfred, walking much too slowly out of a mausoleum chamber to a long abandoned world.

He also knew where the dead were. When he had asked Jarre which way Alfred had led the both of them, he had already known the answer before she pointed down the corridor. All he had to do was remember the young, still faces, remember the engulfing solitude, and it was mapped out for him, the tunnels echoing with voices.

Alfred didn't go down that way though. He made a turn for the opposite direction, the lights guiding his way. Eventually, he came upon a sprawling room, filled to the top with shelves of books. Runes decorated the walls, washing the room in a soft blue, revealing chairs, tables, and further bookshelves in the back that had been hidden away.

_Figures,_  Haplo thought.  _The Sartan would indeed travel across the world for a room full of musty books, wouldn't he?_

There was dust everywhere. It lined the shelves, the books that occupied it, threatening to create a dust cloud should it be disturbed. Even the floor was covered in it, so much that Alfred's large feet whisked it away with his steps, his shoes plopping against the surface. He laid his satchel on one of the tables that were in the room, carefully taking each book out, laying them out gently.

His foot nudged against something light, his heel crushing glass. The man gave a startled jump before looking down, finding a clear, glass globe on its side, broken into halves. Haplo knew instantly that it had been one of the light sources for this room, once, when people had been around. The light made Alfred look behind him, back at the bookshelves, eyes latched onto a certain shelf near the bottom before turning back to his satchel.

Alfred was to be living in a castle now- a castle run by human mensch. Any possession of his that spoke to his Sartan ancestry would be dangerous. And the books that he had, written in the ancient rune-language, would certainly be a threat. And so rather than risk having them around, he would put them back.

_Not a very exciting memory,_  Haplo thought,  _but as long as I don't have to see them again…_

Alfred was already putting the books away, knowing which subject goes where, all in perfect alphabetical order, going down to the sections like he knew them first-hand. It took him little time to get them all done. Haplo noticed there was still a small book or two inside the satchel, but either Alfred had overlooked them or was ignoring their existence on purpose. He supposed it was comforting to the Sartan to have a few things of home on hand.  _Or just his own way of 'risk taking.'_

Alfred's eyes kept straying back to the bookshelves. There was a weird buzzing feeling in Haplo's head, extremely aggravating.

"I really need to leave now," Alfred was saying, going back to the table. "What if- what if someone were to come into my room and find out I wasn't there?" Except that no one would do that. Haplo saw the images that Alfred replayed in his head- he had locked the door to his new, furnished bedroom in the castle, both with physical locks as well as magic. He had even warded the walls of his room and windows, just to be sure no person could just find some other way to waltz in, such as the castle wizard, Tristan.

No one would've bothered, of course. All that people knew of Alfred Montbank was that he was to be the new chamberlain, recruited by Queen Anne. Even with the warring, bloody feelings between the clans of both King and Queen, Alfred was deemed as hardly a threat to a bug. Many who spent time in his presence for more than an hour could see that the old man was harmless.

_Well, you came here for something, didn't you, Sartan?_  Haplo remained patient while Alfred continued his indecisiveness. His feet shuffled in and out, eyes continually straying toward the books. There were fleeting thoughts of wandering down the halls of his old home again, of finding his old chambers, or maybe traversing to the Heart where their plans were supposed to have come into being - _So you_ have _been there, Sartan. You might've actually been useful to have around this time-_ but he simply turned back toward the shelves, instantly pulling out a book from the third one down from the floor. He had been staring at that tome for a long while, and Haplo had been wondering if the man would do anything about that. But at least the feeling in his head stopped.

Alfred took a seat, held the book before him. The runes were perfectly engraved, their hexagonal shapes translating instantly to Haplo.

_Of all the things to be looking for…_  Haplo would've gritted his teeth in frustration if he was in his own body.  _A book about raising a child?_

Though Patryns did highly value the family unit, that was not to say the Sartan didn't do the same. They were just more… traditional. While most Patryns entrusted the care of their children to the Squatter villages for protection, with many members of the tribe having a very direct influence on a child's upbringing, Sartan children were raised up by their own blood, their outside influences mostly limited to those dedicated to education. A mother and father, siblings, and other close relatives- resources that many Patryns simply did not have. But the Sartan thrived in cities, in societies that co-existed with each other, rarely separated. Children never strayed far from the home of their parents, even when starting a family of their own.

And just like Patryns, children were very important to care for, to be brought up to uphold the duties of their ancestors, as Patryn children were to uphold the never-ending goal of theirs.

So to ensure that such an important task was well-tended to- detailed writings on a child's development, on their abilities, of the importance of adult authority to help bring them up to be themselves good authority for their mensch charges, had been made. The title itself on the book was a long-winded, needlessly flourished sentence on child-raising that Haplo could basically sum it up as "How to be a Good Parent."

The book was a large one, possibly over 700 pages. Haplo inwardly groaned, not looking forward to staying here all night reading it over with Alfred. And knowing the Sartan, he would probably do a re-read of it, just in case.

This would be a good time to wake up, but Haplo's life was rarely easy.

"I'm surprised I never thought to look through this," Alfred said aloud. It was a mundane subject to be sure, but he was a voracious reader, especially now, to Haplo's discovery. The man was already skimming through the first few pages, the details lost to Haplo's mind, but apparently not to Alfred. The wave of information, which was right now at a lengthy (and rather pretentious) introduction from the author of the book, clashed into the Patryn's head.

Throughout the words being imparted through Alfred's eyes and the rustling of the pages, was the same image of that squat, grey castle and the woman before it. Daggers, hidden beneath her dress, were strapped to her waist, her movements echoing with the clink of her chain mail. "Our child will need to be cared for."

Alfred had always wanted a child.

Haplo knew this utterly, without pause, without doubt.  _It has nothing to do with me, I don't care._  Sympathy for the Sartan was always such a chore, but the familiarity was not to be refused.

He realized that Alfred was barely reading through the book now. He had somehow waded ten chapters in quickly, now on the usual developmental process of a child past his or her toddler years, around eight or so, when the concept of responsibilities was to be made clear to. The rune-language was still as beautiful as ever, transferring the experience of education, of shared understanding with a young, malleable mind, in rich detail. But few of it reached Alfred's mind, now hazy and suffused with memory. Only one made through: "Your blood and magic courses through their heart, as your teachings course through their mind. Both go hand in hand, unable to sever."

Alfred slid his hands from the book, left them hanging down his sides. "I can barely care for myself. How could I raise a child?" And the book only described Sartan children, descendants of demigods, who would  _of course_ know the correct thing to do by instinct, just needing the adults for more guidance. But a mensch child? It was not the same, at least it couldn't be.

"I… I don't have any right to be taking care of children. I shouldn't have accepted her offer in the first place! It was because of our involvement that everything has been getting worse-"

And  _she_  had wanted a child too, didn't she?

Haplo recalled the young woman in her crystal bed, white hair framing her face. The name escaped him, but she was just as familiar as Alfred's rambling words, as this very library, as the tunnels. She had told him once, a whisper through the gears that continually ran the great machine, just a few days before they would all close their eyes. But she was dead, and now it was a wish that was no longer possible.

Even the Patryn didn't realize at first that Alfred had laid his head against the table. His forehead was pressed against the leaflets of the book, and he was trying to hold back his tears. Thoughts flitted through his head, exposed to Haplo's senses- dark forms full of self-destruction and worthlessness. "I can't…"

_You could just not go back,_ Haplo thought,  _but then what would be the point?_

The mausoleum was a temptation that even the Patryn found hard to shake off. But Alfred had wiped at his eyes, a handkerchief clutched in his hand, and pushed the thought away. He stared at the book for a few moments more before finally closing the cover.

"I'm too much of a coward to sleep," he said softly.

_That's not cowardice, Alfred,_ Haplo said, suddenly wishing the man could hear him, no matter how impossible that was, no matter that this was just a dream/memory that had been laid upon his own consciousness through time.  _If it was, you wouldn't have stayed alive for so long._

But it was a very useless sentiment.

A few minutes passed before Alfred found the nerve to finally put the book back along with the rest of its dusty neighbors. He grabbed the satchel, ignorant of its weight and remaining contents and walked out of the doorway.

"At least I can care for this child. At the very least, I can do one thing right." It was such a bitter irony for Haplo to hear those words. If only Bane had not been the one to fall into Alfred's hands, and he could picture so clearly the trouble the little changeling had given to his clumsy chamberlain.

Still, as Alfred finally walked out of the library, ready to endure the terrors of Arianus once more in all his cowering glory, Haplo couldn't help but think that the Sartan was much braver than he gave himself credit for.

If he could, he would have laughed then, bitter and unhappy.  _Certainly more than me._

* * *

Haplo woke up.

The memories used to only occur to him in dreams, for the most part at least. They always made him feel restless, unstable on his feet. At that moment, he looked around his cell and wondered where he was. He lifted his hands, stared at the runes twining across his skin like ivy, unable to recognize them for his own. The dog's cold nose gently nudged his arm, and then he was himself again.

He grimaced. "Alfred doesn't even need to be near me to frustrate me so much."

The dog whined at the name, nudging his arm again.

The Patryn sat up on his hard bed. The cell he was in was small and cramped, barely giving him enough room to pace around. That was what he had done before, or tried to do before giving himself up to sleep. The only things with him was the bed, a bucket in the corner, and his ever loyal dog.

He was still in Arianus. The dungeons of the Unseen, dug deep within the elven kingdom, kept rare prisoners that never saw the daylight again. The doors were strong, crafted from iron, fitted in with multiple locks. No normal man could have broken free, and even if he had, the elves in their camouflaging armor would be upon him before he ever realized it.

Haplo could admit that they were mildly impressive. He hadn't seen any other mensch come up with such technology, but even so, he could detect them right away, pinpoint the outline of their bodies against the wall in clear detail. By contrast, he could walk right past them, explore the dungeons at his leisure, even take possession of a few weapons, which he had done on his first night of imprisonment. He could even leave right now, and no mensch eyes would be able to follow him out the road to his escape.

_Escape to where?_  he thought.

The dog suddenly growled.

"Has my master finally woken up?" The voice slid through the small opening of his door, an iron grate for checking on such prisoners. A pair of eyes cast his cell in a red, lurid glow. "Do you now wish to be free?"

His back against the wall, Haplo looked forward. The elf had on his smile, smug and venomous. Haplo didn't need to move any closer to know that the shapeshifter still wore his captain's garb. Perhaps the mensch really were fools to not notice that this elf was nothing like them, who had most likely killed another to take his place. But then the dragon-snakes were naturals at deceit, despite one or two aberrations in their stolen form, like a missing ring or a misplaced scar. Or maybe the mensch simply didn't want to look at him close enough to find toothless jaws closing over them whole.

The Patryn did what he had always done when the dragon-snake visited him- he said nothing.

Sang-drax ("a most clever name, don't you agree?") shook his head, his smile growing wider. "If you want to continue playing this game, then by all means, please do so. Whatever you decide, just know that you have our full support. Live and die in this cell if you wish, or go and make your report to your Lord. Or are you still trying to disrupt young Bane's plans? Would you like me to offer some suggestions?"

He stayed silent, kept his mind locked as much as he could. The dog's growling lowered an octave, the black hair on its body standing up on end.

"This door means nothing to you. Why hold back and not tear it down to come at me? At the very least, a fight would give this place some much needed excitement."

To do nothing was the best course of action. The dragon-snake goaded him on every day, wanting him to help sow back chaos like he did before.  _This is the best way_ , he would think.  _He can't make me do a thing_. But it didn't subside the anger and the helplessness any less.

"We could even have a walk outside if you'd like, have a nice little discussion on the current happenings. Did I tell you about the Gegs' threats over the Kicksey-winsey? Even I did not expect that. I wonder how it's destruction will do for this world."

_No doubt you're pleased with that._  But he kept still, the dog's growl staying at an even tone. His hands itched for a dagger that he had hidden under a piece of loose stone. But the red eyes had turned in that direction, once again taunting him. So he fumed in silence.

Sang-drax laughed, so much like the monsters back at Draknor, when Alake had been struck down. Had he been one of the serpentine bodies chasing down the children, slithering away from a dragon's wings?

"Or maybe you did not wish to wake up just yet. I should have realized you were the grumpy sort."

Haplo raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help himself. "What do you mean?"

"Oh no, no, please, do not mind me. Return to your dreams and I will leave you to your privacy. Such a sad loss, I am sure."

Haplo clenched his fists, extremely careful to not let a ripple of emotion pass over his face. He did  _not_  want-

"Your lord worries over you, Haplo. Especially with your dishonesty. Your restless sleep is proof of that. Did you not think I would notice?" He tsked in exaggerated disappointment. "How many more nights must you endure another run through the Labyrinth? You will not find her while staying here."

And just like that, Haplo's mind paused.  _What?_

The dragon-snake's words were clear enough however. They brought to mind of Marit again, of sitting next to her by the tree, of watching her leave. Bitter memories now, and of course the monster would know of it, except his dreams had been of something else entirely, of tunnels and old tomes, of a man dreading his future responsibilities.

Did Sang-drax not know about this?

There  _had_  been nights when he would relive his days as a Runner, but not recently. Ever since he had spoken with that old man by the Last Gate and arrived at the World of Air, there was only the underground chambers, and the abandoned isles further up the skies. A home that was not his but Alfred's, with memories full of promises and mistakes. Three nights ago, he had been Alfred as a young boy, introducing himself, with stutters and blushes, to a girl who kept her hood up. Two nights ago, he had been watching the storm clouds, waiting for a shape to appear again. And this night, he had been old Alfred, wearing court clothes that he was slowly growing accustomed to, silently weeping into a book.

What he felt next was such a childish feeling, perhaps worthless in the long run, but to hold this piece of knowledge away from Sang-drax, somehow able to mask it from his eyes. It was very invigorating.

"Still, whatever way you wish to suffer by, it matters little to us." Sang-drax shrugged, pleased with himself as always. "And how your Lord suffers as well, unable to trust his own son. If only he knew-"

"He doesn't," Haplo said, his voice even and precise. "And neither do you."

He saw the elf start, surprised by his remark, losing track of his words. And perhaps it was then that made Haplo decide on what he would do. He had thought the serpents as omnipotent as they claimed, reading his every move, pulling him along by the threads to make each and every decision he made useless before their very existence. They knew enough about Alfred, if their claims of this so-called 'Serpent Mage' title was true. (And it was hard to deny that shining dragon above him). They knew about his corruption, about the Sartan making him question what he had once been so sure of. But of the memories continually being exchanged, of the tenuous grasp over his own identity- that was something else entirely.  _They don't know._

Sang-drax leaned forward, suddenly very eager. It twisted his face into an abnormality. "Now just what do you mean by that, master?"

But Haplo had resumed his silence, now pointedly turned away toward the far wall. The dog had finally stopped growling, sitting on its haunches. It regarded the dragon-snake with a steady glare, its bushy tail swishing from side to side in slow motions.

The brief silence for the Patryn was, for once, satisfying.

Sang-drax stepped back from the door. The casting light from his eyes dissipated from the cell. "If you think this changes anything, I'm afraid to say you are quite wrong. Bane will be ready to leave tonight, and his mother- do you remember her? You must, I'm sure. She so wants her dear child back that she is willing to travel to dangerous foreign lands for him. To save him, from you."

A hand gripped the iron grate, tightly. "And after all, there is still Jarre to worry about, and she has told me time and time again how desperately she wants to get home."

Footsteps dwindled away from his cell. He kept waiting for the dragon-snake to come back, to reach through the cell door, to demand his fear. But the Patryn was alone with the bed, the bucket, and his dog.

_I can play your game, too, Sang-drax, and this time with a few tricks of my own._

There was still a long way to go. Bane would start another bloody war, murdering his adoptive parents in the process. The dwarves would complete the destruction with their dead Kicksey-winsey, tearing it apart as easily as they had kept it alive. And Jarre was still here, much too close to the dragon-snake's presence. The itch to move, to rush forward, had returned.

He waited for just a few more hours until night descended, when the guards reduced to the one that sat by his desk, a few feet from his cell door. He retrieved his weapons, a dagger and a long sword, examined the runes he had inscribed on them, making sure that their marks of death was intact, without flaw.

Haplo could remain here and do nothing. After all, he was fighting against a force beyond his very understanding. It was a very telling thing to feel so insignificant, like he was a child again, crouching in the bushes and having no way at all to change what was happening right in front of him.

But the walls were cramped, and the dreams only reminded him of what he had first set out to do.

For all of his infuriating words, Sang-drax did have a point. He could not find what he was searching for while still remaining here in captivity.

He got up, walked to the door, the dog following close behind. He pressed his fingers against the iron, watched shapes form and burn through the surface until a small hole appeared in its place. Only large enough to fit a small child.

"Would you like a baby?" Marit asked him once. Then she had left.

She had carried his child, he knew that. He was relying on Zifnab's words, but what reason did the crazy old man would have for lying? Besides, he had always known, even back then when he had watched her go and did nothing to stop her. If there was a chance for her survival, for the child he could not bear to have, he would make finding them his goal.

Find them, and Alfred, with his own 'dreams.'

"Well, at least I won't have to explain to him much," he said with a tight smile.

He traced the final sigil on the door, burned it right through. An escape route now big enough for him and his dog, which had happily jumped right through the hole, looking expectantly at him.

"Either way," he said, following. "I have someone to find."


	7. Into the Labyrinth: Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this would be here faster?
> 
> Yeah, I say a lot of things.

 

On the day before the Sleep, she asked him, "What if we stayed awake instead?"

Coren's mind had paused then, needing to sort out the importance of her words. It was difficult for him to grasp, to accept the fact that his own thoughts trailed too closely on the same line. "Is that…" he asked, looking away from the large room from where they would be sealed up for the coming years - no more than a few decades at least. "Is that what you want?"

Lya had a peculiar way of assenting her ideas. She took her time, trailing a hand across the crystal they had both fashioned. It was only one of many in the room, each of the same dimensions for a full-grown person to be able lay down inside and stretch out their whole body.

"Because I'm just realizing now." She paused, letting the runes echo around them. Her hood was up as well, which was strange, for she usually had it down when they were alone. "Isn't it a lot to ask for, when the world is breaking, that we are allowed to simply walk away?"

"Our elders will still be here to handle it." He had nearly said  _our parents_ but had caught himself in time. "They even said that the best way for everything to heal was with time."

Usually, Coren would run a hand through her hair, an action that Lya would encourage by leaning against him, her head just barely meeting his shoulder. So tangled and unkempt it was, that sometimes his fingers would get caught in the strands, causing them both to struggle and laugh. But her hood was still on, and he could not find the courage to tug it down.

"Yes," she said, softer than he was used to. "It is probably for the best, isn't it?" She spoke truthfully, for the Sartan always spoke truthfully. But her words, in his mind, were like a prism, refracting a dozen different meanings, of half-truths and suspicions, all of them much too familiar.

"We've been here too long. The rains must've calmed by now if you want to go outside." The wide room suddenly felt too confining, the crystal beds too numerous, trying to block his way to the outer doorway.

"Yes, we have," Lya answered, and he saw something so vast and empty, that at first, he had to question his own mind if that was so. "It's a little sad, but it's difficult now to even make my little automatons. I promised a dwarf child I would make one for him soon, but the parts kept slipping from my fingers."

"You've been working on so many other things, Lya. You're just tired."

She grasped his hand, callused from her handling of machinery. She let him take her away from the room, which gaped behind him in all its silence.

"Coren, I'm sorry."

He turned to her, confused. What she said made no sense, not in the multitudes of meanings available to him, in all of the runes numerous shades of power could he understand it. "I don't… why are you apologizing?"

Only then did she remove the hood, and that image of her standing before him, with the overpowering room behind her, with the crystal beds at her side, had stayed with him throughout his coming dreams and the years of eventual loneliness in a world that continued to deteriorate at his feet.

"I know I'm not myself lately." She smiled sadly. "Ivor told me so himself. I suppose I just… can't help but feel frustrated about all of this. Certainly there's something we haven't discovered. There has to be a way we could still change things besides simply waiting." She looked at him with such intensity. "Don't you think so?"

Because when something was broken, it was their duty to fix it, to mend it back to the perfection of their image. He had seen Lya do so herself when one of her mechanical projects would break down, or reacted in a way that was not her intention. Change a part here, or alter a rune inscription there. And if it was still not acceptable, she would tear it apart completely so that she could start from scratch. It could not just be let alone. It was the way of the Sartan, and of her's.

Coren answered her too quickly, for the thought had been lodged inside his chest for a long time. "Maybe we can't."

At that, Lya widened her eyes. What he suggested had been beyond disobedience. Suddenly, for the first time since he spoke to Lya outside the building, he felt nervous and self-conscious, mentally cursing himself for such foolish words.

Her voice spoke clearly of her confusion, for what was a Sartan who could not believe their vision? "I don't really understand. Who else could fix things besides us?"

_The mensch. It is their home we are trying to change. It is their lives we are holding as if it were nothing more than stones._

The words reverberated in his head so strongly. He had been there when both the humans and elves were forced off of the High Realms, forced to dwell in the middle islands, to re-learn the lands and the means to survival. He had watched the dwarves adamantly work on the great machine on his treks with Ivor, fascinated with the electricity, with the turning cogs and the creaking metal, still not understanding the purpose of it all. The elders had never bothered to explain much beyond the rudimentary. It had not been necessary for the mensch could not truly understand the Sartan's creation. How could they?

He knew, as he looked at his love, that he could not say such things to her. So for the first time, he masked his betraying thoughts, narrowed down the myriad of meanings available to them in their tongue to only one. For the first time, he lied.

"I meant that maybe our elders would be able to, instead of us really. In their wisdom, they would find a way. Once things are better when we wake up, we can help head things back to the right direction."

Lya took a moment, gazing at him. He feared that she saw through his words, for something passed over her face, an expression he could not name.

But she only nodded, taking a deep sigh.

"You're right. I suppose I just don't like feeling so restricted…" She took his hands, looking so tired. "And to sleep… I'm honestly afraid of it. Just the very thought of sleeping for so long…"

As she said that, she hid deeper inside her robes, until she seemed to disappear within them fully, leaving him with nothing but a white shadow. Reflexively, he embraced her, feeling her settle against him in comforting familiarity.

Yet he looked back to the sleeping chamber and felt dread creep within him. So many doubts were corrupting his thoughts, leaving him with nothing to fall back on. Certainly, how could he think that the mensch could mend what they could not? How could he have such little confidence in his people's words?

But to sleep would be good, was still far more preferable than anything else. How relieving it would be to not struggle against the currents for the moment. At least not like that dragon he once saw in the sky.

* * *

Yet to sleep, Alfred soon learned, is to grow closer to death. Perhaps that was why he would faint often, to try to seek out that solace that his loved ones had already gotten. Lya had looked so peaceful, untouched finally by all of their people's troubles, preserved throughout the centuries.

When Orla first succumbed to grief in the Vortex, she had looked the same, peaceful and content, with even a smile on her face. It had sent waves of heartache and bitterness through him. All he had been graced with was the knowledge that he had not been enough, that once again a dear one had gone down a path that he could not follow - no, not unless he had the very courage to do so…

It was almost relieving to see that Haplo was not the same way.

"What else are you doing to him, Sartan?" spoke a voice from across the white room. The woman.  _Her name is Marit,_  came the unbidden thought, uncomfortable as it was familiar. Disgust radiated from her tone, for her hatred would not simply fade away, no matter how quickly he had pulled her from the folds between dimensions, away from the crushing water.

Alfred looked up, finding her sitting against the wall, hugging her knees as if she wished to disappear within herself. She kept well away from the Sartan runic characters etched around them, fearing them more than a sea monster's poison. There came the image of her sitting underneath a twisted tree, her runes painted dark against her arms.

He turned away, trying to bury away that foreign memory in case she saw it from his words. "I'm only trying to heal him, as I've said before."

He tried to keep his eyes to the task, gripping Haplo's wrists as tight as he could. He felt shameful to admit, even to himself, that he started to look forward to the healing process now, despite the eyes that would stare at him; from the Patryn woman, from Hugh (who was very not dead) and the dog, the only creature there that looked at him with trust. It was good to feel a connection, for it gave him something that was outside his own self, and allowed him to feel the strength of Haplo's will. It was a comfort that he felt he needed, despite not fully understanding how it came about, and these terrible, horrible circumstances.

_Am I helping him or just being cruel? Even if he lived, what would we be able to do?_

Haplo flinched in his sleep, his body going in tremors despite Alfred's support. An improvement still. Before, he would cry out, and his voice would translate to Alfred that image of a dreaded serpent, circling around him, promising death. But that had been a few days ago, when his hand had been charred to oblivion. It had taken much out of Alfred to heal that injury, but the Sartan could be stubborn, and he had not left Haplo's side until his hand was whole again, complete, unbroken.

Whenever he laid his hands on Haplo, he would see Marit flinch. He had not expected her to trust him, nor believe him to be capable of doing what he attempted. But she was more than displeased - she seemed to be offended that he would dare complete the circle with another Patryn.

"So now he owes you?" she once asked him, loathing coating her voice.

He had taken too long in answering her. "I just want to help him." But she had already made up her mind. Though the Patryns know that a Sartan couldn't lie, they were still tricksters at heart after all. It disturbed him how he could read her thoughts so well.

He could've told her the truth.  _I need him._ But who would believe that?

He heard the shift of a body behind him. Hugh was getting up. No, he couldn't face him yet. He stopped his spell, instantly regretting being left to the chill of his own self without Haplo's warmth, no matter how fever-driven it was. The dog whined instantly.

"Leaving again, Alfred?"

He had to. Haplo wasn't awake yet. "I just… have to gather food."

"Just magic up some here. I'm sure you should be able to do that easily enough." He barely had to imagine Hugh's expression, his voice told it plain.

"That's not… I'm sorry, I have to go."

And like every time before, he would whisper a quick rune, opening the panel in the wall and leave before anyone could say a word more. His feet actually worked with him during such moments, to his own surprise. Then he would wait until he felt the pull again, until the emptiness inside his chest grew too much.

Though when he started to get to his feet, he was instantly pulled back down. At first, he suspected the dog, for its whine had risen in pitch, and he knew the animal wouldn't shy away from grabbing onto a coattail or sleeve. But then he noticed the fingers gripping his wrists, tight and unyielding, their heat searing through his coat.

But Haplo didn't seem to be awake.

Knowing that Hugh was not far off, and that Marit watched him all too carefully, he tried to pry himself away. But the lines of magic, tracing down Haplo's hand, was a pattern that he grew too familiar with.

_Wait._

He kept pulling him nearer, almost enough to make him fall over. So slight was his movement, so subdued that neither Hugh or Marit noticed, only the Sartan's own ungainly motions. He tried again to move back, but so much of him refused to. Easier to let things go along. Hadn't it always been like that?

He looked down, finding Haplo's eyes just barely open. Not awake, lost in dreams, trying to reach up to the shadow hovering over him. There was no darkness this time, and those around could see them all too well.

_You can't leave._

Back on Arianus, Alfred had been in danger of fainting straight onto the body of his ancient enemy, his mind caught by eyes that moved through him too well. He did not feel the familiar waves of blackness, but he felt he would lie down all the same. Because it was good to feel this connection, so much that he had not realized the painful hunger of it at all.

"N…no," he said softly, regretting it, knowing that was the only option right now. "Not… not yet, I mean…"

_Not yet for what?_  Haplo's thoughts were of confusion. It only made Alfred feel even more embarrassed. What had he been thinking?

He carefully pried away Haplo's fingers from his wrist. Maybe he could devise some excuse to bring him along. At the very least, he could talk to Haplo then, without Hugh and Marit hounding at the sides. But his throat was clogged, so he said nothing and quickly walked off.

The Patryn had his eyes closed again, but his voice chased after him.  _Sartan, what did you mean?_

_Nothing. I didn't mean anything._

He thought he heard Hugh talking to him again, but he swiftly went through the panel before he could make sense of his voice. The boom of the closed door brought him incredible relief, so much so that he collapsed to his knees and leaned against the wall.

He could've conjured food if he wanted - the Vortex would not leave him wanting, even if he wished it would. But how could he stay in there? The rooms were identical, down to the white walls and their symmetrical lines. All aesthetics he recognized, all that he was sick of.

_Alfred?_

He shook, wondering if he was truly going insane, if he was really this desperate to be summoning voices out of nowhere. But desperation made him consider this possibility that maybe…  _How are you talking to me?_

_I only know as much as you do._

In Drevlin, when he had discovered what had been underneath those bandaged hands. Above the Fire Sea, when he had seen, and experienced, what was past the Patryn's barrier. In those moments, there was the answer. But, just as before, he dared not look any deeper into it.

Haplo's presence was almost tangible, as if he was right beside him, moving his hands, searching through his thoughts.  _I don't understand this,_  he said, just slightly uncomfortable with the shared space.

_You need to come back out,_  Haplo advised. Impatience. He had something he needed to talk about.

Alfred shook his head.  _You're not even awake yet. I can't._

Haplo was silent for a long while, until he whispered,  _Then sleep._

_What?_  But Alfred suddenly felt drowsy, as if he would want nothing more than to lay his head.  _How are you doing this?_

_As I said, I only know as much as you do._

There was no one around him, just the bare whiteness, with only the memory of Orla fading further away from him. But as he closed his eyes, he saw the smile that was in the dark, quiet and thoughtful, and directed at him.

* * *

The circle had ended here.

"What if we went back?"

Haplo looked at her in disbelief. "We can't save them."

The woman,  _her name is Marit,_  kept a tight grip on her spear. She kept looking down the path they traveled. Remains of wolfen that had ambushed them were strewn around their feet. Blood covered their hands. Another fight won against the Labyrinth. But not for the Squatters that had taken them in for the night, as they heard by the screams in the distance. A small camp, with more children than adults, they could not defend themselves. And their dying would not be quick either.

Alfred felt the crushed dirt under his hands, and how his heart just wouldn't stop beating so loud. He struggled to his feet, watching the runes on his arms still glow a thirsty red.  _I know I shouldn't be seeing this,_  he thought shamefully. But he was drowned out by Haplo's own, of his realization that the woman had already made a decision that he could not follow through with.

Even as the sounds from the camp grew silent, Marit walked toward it still. She uttered a chant, restructuring the runes of her spear so that she could inflict pain and death onto her enemies. And there would be many, all of them eager to target at a fresh kill. If Haplo went with her, they might stand a chance. Or they might both be slaughtered.

"Are you carrying my child?" he called out after her. She flicked him a glance, for only a moment, before she carried on.

This was the memory Alfred had told Orla once, his hand resting on the dog's head as it looked at him expectantly. There the fragmentation of the Patryn's soul had truly begun. Though the dog had not separated just yet from his master's shadow, he had been shoved away to a distance, becoming a nagging, whining sensation that Haplo soon learned to ignore. The Labyrinth would give him no alternative. He could not be blamed for the path he took.

Alfred felt the tug as Marit walked away, of a circle once joined, now forcibly let go. This was a connection barely spoken of, tethering Haplo above drowning. But the link had snapped, leaving both Patryns to travel the uncharted alone once again, as they were meant to. Runners could not be chained, they could not forsake their feet to wallow in one location until they grew old. They could not squander their remaining youth like that.

Still, Alfred felt that tug, knowing how it mirrored Haplo's turmoil. A leg shifted forward, to chase Marit across the bloody plains. But he had to uphold the truth of his name, so he stayed where he was to watch until she vanished, until the shouts and screams from far off in the distance was silenced. Then he turned away.

In the dreams, Alfred was bound to the Patryn's movements, sometimes his emotions. He shared his skin and blood, with only a brief semblance of his own consciousness to remember who he was. This time, however, he was left standing in the grass, momentarily stunned. The separation was chilling, as if he had thrown off a thick coat in the middle of a storm. He breathed harshly, turning his head to see Haplo walk off without him. The sight of his receding back was suddenly more terrifying than anything.

_Wait!_ His mind shouted, and stumbled after. He looked down, seeing his own booted feet, his large hands that caught himself from rolling over into the ground.

Haplo stopped.

Suddenly it was not a memory, not as before. Time had stilled, leaving him rooted, half-knelt on the earthen floor. When Haplo turned back, he tried to tell himself that the only reason he did so was because of a lingering regret, a need to see Marit before she disappeared from his life completely. But blue eyes shifted to the pathetic, shivering Sartan on the ground, completely aware of his existence. It was the same eyes from their imprisonment on Drevlin, from their flight over the churning fire sea.

"See Sartan?" Haplo spoke, his voice older, his stance relaxed and subdued. "You're not the only failure here."

And it was the self-mockery in that voice, so full of familiar pain, that made Alfred reach for Haplo's hands. The circle could still be renewed, he did not have to be alone! They were both there in the darkness, under the overhanging trees, where the threat of rain could still reach them. The truth of what they could both achieve was shattering. It made Alfred's head ache so terribly.

The hands gripped his back, comforting as they always had been. He could still feel the imprint of their touch when he finally woke, trying to restructure the semblance of his identity once more.

* * *

Before the world of old, flawed and imperfect in its form, had been broken down to its base elements, Samah had created separate realms outside their very boundaries. The Vortex had been the first, used as the starting point to his second creation, separate from the Labyrinth and its grueling tests. A small enclosed area of peace, just steps away from chaos. He had made the differences purposely and, though he would never say, mockingly. Such a calm abode. Why would anyone want to venture out into the unknown, into a wilderness that was neither soft nor kind?

The Patryns had been nomads, naturally wanderers, unable to take root for very long. Samah had taken that nature to his advantage, knowing they would break down the peaceful walls that shut away the darkness as long as it led away from their enclosed space. That had been his cruelty, and what had made Samah so very dangerous. And what had been worse; his work, like their language, had multiple uses, multiple meanings.

"Samah had thought of everything," Orla had told Alfred, just days before her death. "He knew that some of our own did not agree with his methods. So he sent other Sartan here as well, because while the Patryns would hate staying in this one place for too long, our people cannot stand the loneliness. The walls would be bitter reminders of what they had lost, until they could no longer stand it and follow their way into the prison. He told me this, before the Sending. And I… just grew too afraid."

And truly, there was something so terribly suffocating about remaining here, knowing all that surrounded them. Even so, the Labyrinth's magic could not reach past the gate outside, through that did not stop the dread going through Alfred's body whenever he looked out. The path that twisted and turned in front of him clutched at his ribs, threatening to snap them off with every hitch of his breath.

Yet still, he foolishly kept hope in his heart, and had suggested aloud that maybe they could venture beyond the Vortex, just a few feet. "Perhaps it's not as dangerous as it used to be. The magic could have broken down by then." Even the poisonous greenery was still a change from the unending white of their prison, which he could no longer stand.

Orla, who had grown quieter, had shaken her head. "Samah would have made sure it stood strong."

So when Hugh announced what he saw outside the Vortex, Alfred knew for certain just how deep Samah's hatred for the Patryns ran through his blood. He felt its counterpart run through Haplo, now awake and healed, knowing his life's safety was not certain, and had never been certain. The happiness that he felt on finally speaking to Haplo after so long quickly turned to shame when the Patryn looked at him.

"You've known."  _And didn't tell me._

Seeing the white room, Haplo had thought that Samah must have not kept his word for Alfred's punishment. But of course he did.

"I'm sorry… That's why I said there's no way out. Only Orla's-"

"Enough, Alfred."

He said his name gently, uncharacteristically. It stunned Alfred to silence.

"What are you talking about?" Marit interrupted. She glared at Alfred, wishing to peel back the barriers surrounding his mind, making the poor man shudder. "Known what?"

"Where we are." Haplo hesitated, prompting Marit to take a step forward, as if ready to throttle the both of them. He answered before she took such a chance. "Back home."

If the words themselves weren't clear, the images behind them were. It was enough to make her pale, so much that Alfred thought she would faint. She had looked like that once, when both of them had cowered beneath a sharp outcropping of rocks, a flight of dragons soaring so close to the ground that the tips of their wings brushed the earth. They had to hold onto each other to keep themselves from falling and betraying their position to the monsters. Marks where her fingers dug hard into his arms had been visible for weeks.

Haplo looked at him sharply. Alfred blinked. He could not be losing himself this much.

"Go check it out if you don't believe me," Haplo told Marit, but she had already walked off, shoving past the mensch into the only doorway that led outside. The corridor that followed was a long, twisting way before it opened up by the First Gate. Even in her march, she would take some time before she left the Vortex's realm.

Hugh watched her past, then turned back toward Haplo. "You're not going with her? At least to be sure?"

"I don't need to."

The assassin frowned, watching both him and Alfred in an unkind gaze. He opened his mouth to say something more, and the Sartan tried to prepare himself for what would come. He should have expected this. Everything was his fault after all; Hugh's current state, Marit's distrust of Haplo. It all lead back to him, made him long to rest.

_Alfred, I told you - enough._

Haplo's words were loud, ringing in his ears, though his lips never moved. The Patryn was careful to keep his gaze on the mensch, but Hugh had always been perceptive. Death wouldn't have changed that, and he looked to them both in renewed suspicion.

The tension in the room was thick, trying to subtly push him out. Alfred panicked. There was no chance that Hugh could not have heard it. Perhaps whatever Alfred had done to him had heightened his awareness. He wanted to sink to the floor. To have other people know when he himself didn't even understand…

He heard Haplo sigh in exasperation. A hand gripped his arm, firm but gentle.

"Sit down if you're about to fall over."

Alfred stammered out, "I just- I just need to-"

"Sit."

He immediately complied, allowing the Patryn's hand to guide him back to the white floor, his back against the wall. He noted that Haplo had steered him a good distance away from the twin crystal chambers in their alcove.

Haplo crossed his arms, looking down at the Sartan like a frustrated parent. "Obviously Alfred still needs some time to recover," he told Hugh, keeping his eyes averted. "Give us a bit before we go."

"So we're leaving this place then?" Hugh asked.

"No other option besides that. Unless you want to stay here forever."

At that, Hugh smiled bitterly. "Right. Can't exactly die of boredom, can I?"

Seeing the question directed at him, Alfred started to answer, his insides turning to ice. "N-no, I suppose…"

Haplo went to his rescue. "We won't be long."

To Hugh, the Patryn was clear on what he wanted. Though more subtle than most of his people, Haplo still resorted to a bluntness that Alfred feared the other man would take offense at. But Hugh only shook his head, realizing he had come upon something he didn't wish to comprehend.

"Fine. I'll follow her then." So he turned away, leaving both Alfred and Haplo (and the dog) alone. The animal's bark of farewell towards the assassin nearly startled Alfred to his feet.

"Would you stop it already?" Haplo sat down next to him. "It's more than annoying."

"I… I know." Alfred cut off his apology before it could escape his lips. He kept his gaze to the floor.

The dog made himself comfortable beside the Sartan, resting a chin on his knee, sighing with content. Unconsciously, Alfred started to stroke his head. The dog wagged his tail to show his approval.

It took him a moment to notice Haplo's quiet stare. Thoughtful, watching how relaxed the animal was with the touch. This was crossing the barrier, but hadn't they already rushed past that anyway? Alfred was astonished at how he was trying to find excuses for it.

He suddenly remembered what Haplo had been saying before. "Am I going with you?"

At this, Haplo raised an eyebrow. "You didn't think I was just going to let you kill yourself, did you?"

It sounded so much more harsh when put like that. "I'd only get in the way," he lamely explained.

"You're coming along, Sartan. Like it or not."

"But…" The dog nudged his hand again, demanding his attention. He spoke in a tight whisper. "Why would you even want me around?"

The Patryn shifted, laying his back along the wall until he was even with Alfred. He draped his arms over his bent knees, staring ahead. "Maybe it's because of the dreams," he answered.

The woman in the forest, the tired ache in his bones from running, always running. Each time, Alfred had to find pieces of his own self and hold them close, hoping that he won't lose sight of who he really was. He had nearly done so once, speaking of Haplo's thoughts with Orla, and feeling that again with Marit not so long ago. It felt like a losing battle, as if he were being devoured. It should have been frightening.

Yet it wasn't somehow - at least not completely. Sinking further away from himself into another's skin, into a warmth that was not his own. It was better than the unending solitude. But did Haplo feel the same? Certainly he resented this. Who would want to share their own soul with someone like him?

"You want to find your daughter," he said, thinking he found the main reason Haplo wanted him. That was the memory he saw. He had felt his regret, seeping through his blood, no matter how hard he tried to bury it down.

Haplo took a moment, then sighed. "She's here, and she's alive. Marit knows it too."

Alfred felt humbled. Even if the Patryn disliked him, to ask such a thing of him was almost too much. "I don't know what I could do to help you. What if I only make things worse?"

"You need to stop thinking like that."

A hint of muted color, of muffled rain. How much had Haplo seen of him? Even if his hands ached to hold onto Haplo's just for their familiarity, he felt that it would be much too unfair. "I just don't see how I can…"

A grip on his arm made him pause. His eyes latched onto the hand, the designs as familiar to him as his first Sartan melody. "I do care about you, Alfred."

Not only was it spoken to the air, but to the space inside his head, like a gentle invitation. It was enough to make Alfred reconsider everything.

He could tell that Haplo didn't mean to say it out loud. It had been a step that was too large, much too risky to undertake. The words had left his mouth before he could pin them down and just simply let the fresh connection between them translate for him. But the statement had now been made concrete, steeped into reality, laying his own feelings bare.

If there was one aspect of the Patryn that stayed constant, it was his adaptability. By nature, he maneuvered his way, finding his own connection in whatever new situation he found himself in. As he was now, quickly recovering from his mouth's betrayal, and staring at Alfred as if daring him to deny the truth of his words.

Alfred didn't want to. He wanted to believe it more than anything, but doubt had festered inside himself for so long, left untreated for years. He could not be worth anyone's time. He had to look away, fearing to offend.

"Don't do that to yourself, Alfred," spoke the voice within his soul. "I've seen it - you're worth more than what you think."

He could barely get the words out. "I've tried thinking through it all differently, you know. I took chances, and I've failed."

A pause. "I know." Then a grin. "You've seen enough of my failures, too, haven't you?"

"But… you're much stronger than me. You've achieved so much more than I could-"

"No, I haven't."

The conviction in his tone was strong, startling Alfred back to his stutter. "Y-you escaped though!" Too easily could he recall the cries of the dying chaodyn that had blocked his way, that brief feeling of triumph.

"No. I only ran away. I was leaving everything I ever valued behind and I knew it."

As usual, Alfred was confused. "Isn't that what I did?"

The climb through the Drevlin tunnels had been torturous, pulling at the ache in his legs, squeezing his chest until he thought he would collapse from the fear. Rows of his friends, all behind him now, locked away while he abandoned them all. "I left them-"

"You left them to find change. Because you knew that staying there would have done nothing and helped no one. Alfred, if you were actually a coward, you would already be dead - and so would I."

It is a very telling thing to realize just how one's life has so much effect on another's. Haplo made it clear - without Alfred's interference, that cave in Draknor would have been devoured in full darkness, runes completely extinguished. Was it so surprising? Haplo affected him in the same way. The hand stayed on his arm, pulling him away from the cold loneliness that could barely be contained.

It was all so difficult though. Before Haplo arrived, the whiteness of the Vortex had been overwhelming. Even now, it made him want to shut his eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm not leaving you here, Alfred." With exceeding patience, Haplo tugged at his arm. "Get up."

Emotions overtook Alfred's head, seeping into his limbs. "I might trip."

"Then I'll catch you. Come on."

Of course the Sartan stumbled as he did so, trying to gently push the dog's head off his knee and get to his feet all in one motion. But Haplo's grip was steady, giving him time to find his balance before he let go. Once unconnected, he looked him over, assessing him, quietly asking if he could get his legs to move.

"I'm fine now," Alfred assured. A sudden thought sparked in his head. "Hugh and… her. They're probably still waiting out there."

"Probably." Haplo smirked. "Well, I'd certainly hope they didn't go in by themselves."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Do you think they would really do that?"

"It was a joke, Sartan."

"O-oh…" He swallowed, feeling a tension between them. It was Haplo's gaze, contrasting greatly with the mild tone in his voice. Intense and piercing. Was there something more he wished to discuss?

The dog brushed against his leg. He felt the gentle thumping its tail hitting his side, oddly comforting.

"Thank you," he said to them both, trying to dispel whatever awkwardness lay there. Even so, his gratitude was genuine. "I'm still not sure what I can do, but… I will try, at least."

Haplo shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was a pitch lower, quieter. "You know what Hugh told me once about you? That you were a man of many talents. He may not have known it then, but he was right. You'll find a way."

Alfred knew he meant it as a compliment. But the mention of the assassin just reminded him of past mistakes again. "W-well, that was a long time ago…"

It was hard to say the words straight. Haplo's eyes didn't relent from their stare. They held Alfred in place, made him unaware of how the other had moved a step closer.

"And dragons have more talent than most of us, don't they?"

The image Haplo's words painted was more frightening than the darkness outside the Vortex's walls. The dragon struggling through the storm, the man laying in the sand, staring up at the shining creature that cut through the sky.

"That wasn't me," Alfred quickly answered.

"Right." Haplo moved in close, giving him little time to react. "Like it wasn't you that kissed me."

Despite the fact that Haplo actually voiced aloud that incident, naming its act so severely to make it impossible to deny, somehow Alfred found himself focusing instead on a certain implication. He recovered immediately.

"But it  _wasn't_  me!"

And perhaps it was that reverse accusation that made Haplo start, visibly reconsidering before he took another step, closing the distance to confirm Alfred's words. But neither knew for sure, of course. They didn't know at all how or why this was all happening.

In that moment, Haplo's movements echoed Orla's so much that it caused Alfred's chest to tighten. It was how he searched through him, trying to find that hidden shadow of his nature, just as Orla had, before resorting to different means. Except his kiss was not as gentle. As it had been on Chelestra when he had connected the circle between them, the desperation was there, evident in its strength, in the way his hand curled around the Sartan's collar to keep him near.

He was a leaf caught, close to breaking, but Haplo held him together, treading that fine line that would have devoured Alfred completely. He succumbed to it much too easily. A hand awkwardly placed itself over Haplo's, reaffirming that hold. It was the rush from thunderstorms, the chill of solitude, all reflected back at him through the mouth over his. Familiar things that he was grateful to feel, a revival of emotions that he had been too afraid to name. This was the most that he would ever have, he realized. How close he had been too losing it all if he had slept too soon, if he had not heard Haplo's call from the waters to bring him back. And it was enough, more than enough. He had to lean forward as well, for he could not reject this familiarity. With his mouth, he tried to translate his own memories of empty tunnels, of a girl timidly releasing her own doubt, all of it surrounded by eternal white walls.

He felt Haplo take it all carefully, knowing their fragility. Few had ever been this gentle with him.

It could not have lasted long - it did not seem probable. But afterwards, his whole being was shaking and his lips ached. When they separated, he felt how his back pressed against the wall. He could not correlate how his body had moved there, or how Haplo had pushed him so without him realizing it.

He remained still, looking back at Haplo whose eyes were clear and aware. They were not dream-filled like back on Abarrach, even back on Arianus in Drevlin. (Did everything lead from there?) There was no excuse for it now, no place for Haplo to lay the blame at Alfred's feet. There was that brief memory of bright red shining through, marking Alfred for death. The runes stayed dark, as deep blue as night.

As if now realizing it, Haplo raised an eyebrow. "Guess you were telling the truth, Sartan."

There was some disappointment in his voice, and Alfred instantly knew. Why was only Haplo affected, to make him act this way? Why was this so one-sided?

"It's not," Alfred answered the thought. He flushed, knowing that the comment didn't make much sense. "I mean… it's probably just the dreams, right? Like you said?"

Haplo stared at him for a moment. Alfred couldn't help but recall the warmth from before, grasping his arms to still his shaking. Then he heard laughter.

It was not mocking or bitter. Somehow, the sound brought him to years and years past, as a young man seated with his friends, laughing good-naturedly at a comment or a small joke. He had not realized how much he missed that, and stared wide-eyed at the Patryn who had given him that.

Somehow, any doubt or shame was gone from Haplo's face, replaced by gratitude. "Are you actually trying to cheer me up, Alfred?"

He wished he had the bravery to kiss him then. Or to embrace him. Or to give him his real name. He suddenly wanted all those things more than anything. Especially since he was certain that the Patryn would accept that - all of it. But the kiss from before had taken so much out of them both, and Alfred could not push his friend so.

And he was his friend, wasn't he?

Alfred couldn't keep down his own smile at the thought. "It's the same for me too, you know."

The dog wagged its tail as it circled around them both. It pushed its head up against Alfred's hand, prompting him for pets.

"It's probably been too long already," Haplo said quietly, looking behind them. "We should leave."  _And you are coming, aren't you?_

Why would he want to separate from the only good part of himself? "Yes, we should. I'll try not to get in the way so much."

He only briefly looked back at the crystal chamber hugging the wall. If he had Haplo's strength, he might've saved her. But he could not help the vast relief when they both walked out of the white, despite the darkness that pervaded the air, or the dreadful things that he knew would happen to them later, that would make them doubt or regret their decisions. But at least, for right now, he was determined to stay by Haplo's side, before his own sense of worth overtook him again.

When he lagged behind a little, Haplo took his arm once more, gently, guiding him across the cracked ground. If he had really been a dragon, then shouldn't he be the one protecting Haplo? Maybe, if he could get past his own barriers, if he could keep the Patryn's voice close enough. That's what dragons usually did, wings spread out to protect their kin and mates, enough to even shake off a mage's hold on their minds.

_You're still a man of many talents,_  spoke that treasured voice of his soul. Haplo glanced back at him briefly, his eyes penetrating.  _Just keep that in mind._

He would then.

* * *

After Marit had left, after his visit to the village where she stayed, Haplo became reckless. It was not obvious, for even he didn't notice how he no longer bothered to mask his footsteps in the dark, or would only make half-hearted checks of his temporary shelters. A disdain for his life had settled into him deep. The future eluded him too well, reducing his concerns for only the very present, to only fight for his life the moment it was threatened.

Natural instinct made complete apathy impossible, but he treaded the line numerous times. The rush across the plains that separated him from the Final Gate had been a near disastrous result, leaving him vulnerable to the chaodyn that had laughed at his foolishness. The Patryn would have said the only reason he lived was through sheer will and the hatred that he had been taught, that he had kept close to his heart. Alfred, remembering the dog, wounded and limping, knew differently.

Besides the chaodyn, there was one other incident that Haplo had been just as careless, ignoring the signs strewn across the earth and the stillness of the dark trees around him. Dragon caves were usually situated far above the ground level, hugging between high stone walls so that the monsters could catch a wide, clear view of their next prey. But making their lair deep beneath the earth proved just as advantageous in different ways.

Like any other struggling animal, Haplo was tempted by the solid ceiling and the cool darkness of the cavern. He would not have to make a roof knotted by branches and leaves, nor would he have to sleep between bushes as flimsy covering, or risk the branches that could hide a mess of deterioration beneath its bark, betraying him to a fall. A cave was protective, stable, and provided a perfect hiding place within its shadows should any predators lurk by. A swift chant, a quick knife throw, and his attacker would be dead before they saw his runes gleaming in the dark.

He should've noticed that the cavern was too big, that the ceiling was too smooth, as if a great hide had brushed against it in constant passing. Out of breath from his rush across the valley, he nearly lost it again when he came upon yellowed bones placed across the floor, stains of red barely made visible to his eyes. In the memory, Haplo had immediately run off. Renewed strength surged through his legs as he stumbled, swearing he could hear the dragon's breath, how it had made a slight hitch, already knowing that some idiotic prey had dared entered its home. In his dreams, Alfred relived that along with Haplo, waking up with his heart trying to break through his ribs.

But that was before both of their tentative reaches for understanding in the Vortex, the calm acceptance of what they could not deny. The night that he and the rest met more of Haplo's people, when he had finally brushed away sharp pinecones from his makeshift bed on the ground, he dreamed the memory again.

And he chose a different outcome.

There was still the cavern, a great mouth yawning in the mountainside. Though it looked similar to the great, pain-filled caves of Draknor where red-eyed serpents coiled, Haplo came upon the darkness with a steady heart. The floor was bare of debris for the owner liked a tidy abode, and there was no rot of decay, no lingering sense of past agony. Such thoughts did not run through his head, never coming into existence. The shelter promised safety, and the breathing that he heard from the end of the cave was familiar.

"So you're able to do this now?" Haplo said aloud, his voice traveling easily. He moved forward, his pace unhurried, forgetting what it was like to run.

_I learned it from you,_ came the answer.

There was the soft hue of blue light, shining from the walls. Runic scripts cut through the stone, their glow like placid water reflecting the moonlight. The language was of the soft rhythm of the Sartan. Haplo had always been able to read it - it was the same characters, just rearranged in a different pattern, but the ease he went through their stories, describing of past regrets and hearts unbound, showed how deeply he had changed. The anger from a lifetime ago had shifted, becoming a foreign thing.

The runes lit upon the crystal chambers laid out on the floor, on alcoves carved in the walls, concentric in their display. In the middle of it all, a dragon stretched out, wings tucked against his back, head resting on his clawed forelegs. He breathed even and deep, like one in sleep, except golden eyes flared brightly, washing Haplo in their warm light. A tail, spikes protruding from its length, coiled near his head.

The Patryn laughed, so discordant from the memory of bruises dressing his bare arms, from the torn vest he wore. But it was a tone most welcome for both. "You look just like the dog."

The dragon's eyes glimmered with that same laughter.  _I'll take that as a compliment._

One wing stretched out, painting shadows on the floor, encompassing the treasure he so viciously guarded. Alfred had tried to keep the memory of his friends near, but the memory of their death, of what he discovered upon waking, he had kept even closer until it was all he had left. The guilt he viciously held was what caused him to stumble, and it was only right that it did so. At the very least, he could guard the young that had died much too soon and unawares. It was why he had never stopped his visits back to Drevlin, always needing to see them once more. The reminder was one of his failure, and of his gift that was very much undeserved.

Haplo came nearer, falling underneath the wing's shadow. There was contentment in his step, pleasure in his eyes. Ivor had walked the same way, and Lya had shared the Patryn's look. Overcome, Alfred encircled the wing over his friend, shielding him from the terror that lay outside the sanctuary.

Haplo gazed at the green of his scales, his recognition immediate, and smiled thoughtfully. "Coren," he whispered, and with that name came the image of flying high, high above the seamoon, engulfed by constant water and shifting shadows. Haplo had been so far below, but he was all Alfred could see. It was the only reason he could lift the horrid serpent so far up, the only way that he could find the viciousness he held deep within. He could not let another loved one fall, no more, not again.

The magic of his name would keep the Patryn from remembering it upon waking, even though he would also know of the changed cavern that was the dragon's home. But still, deep within his subconscious, he knew, and always had. It was why Alfred would always hear his name uttered in his voice, even when he called him by his mensch name. Right away, Haplo could see through him and his pain. Perhaps if there had been no Xar to instill in him his right to chaos, he would've not denied Alfred's heritage at first. But mistakes could be made and forgiven. And Alfred had never faulted him for anything.

A hand placed itself against his side, a gentle caress that almost sent his soul to uncontrollable shivers. He dug his claws into the floor, trying not to weep. He failed.

"You're not alone anymore," his friend spoke to him, his words acting as a replacement for an embrace. It brought the same heat, the images of twilight dusk that gilded the trees.

_We're not,_  Alfred corrected.

Selfishly, he urged Haplo to stay near him. Dragons were such creatures, keeping their treasures close, shutting out from the world. So it was the same with him. Haplo made no protest against it.

* * *

In the world's own reality, he suddenly felt less helpless. A hand grasped his own, comforting in its grip, strong and supportive.

"Yes, you are my friend."

It didn't seem to matter that the monsters before them were getting closer to their walls, that the city of Abri, home of hybrids, evidence of shared boundaries, was starting to get overrun. Marit got her spear ready, Hugh clutched a bow, and Vasu stood on the battlements, his voice traveling far. All faced the onslaught with weakening defenses. Time and stubbornness would soon weigh them down.

He clutched back at the hand, his fear slowly evaporating. His treasure was here, open to hurt and pain. He could not let go of his selfishness. Wings spread across his mind. Soft runes lit upon the caverns in his heart, teaching him the spell he had once tried so hard to shield from himself.

Haplo, walking with him through the soul, only released his hand after another tight grip. "Good luck, Coren."

There was the dragon, struggling through the storm, beating his wings in desperation. His strength was unbound. Back then, Lya had known of what Coren had experienced, knew of his capabilities. She was similar to Haplo in a lot of ways, so very similar. To be given life again in this man next to him, is this how the heart healed, how it learned to reach out and grasp those hands waiting for him?

So Coren flew, lost in dreams and memories, with always that whispering voice there to guide him. The battering storm of monsters fell away before him, back to the dark. Dragons were protective creatures, and to deny this was a crime. His friend would just remind him, after all.


End file.
